


I spy

by Royalrastafariannaynays



Series: We Met in a Public Place [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst probably, Bulges and Nooks, Christmas, DJ Dave, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Family Issues, Feelings Jams, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Multi, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Thanksgiving, Travel, Trolls on Earth, Xeno, i guess?, im not gonna tag everything, lol, now with the full Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 55,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4866905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royalrastafariannaynays/pseuds/Royalrastafariannaynays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're just trying to get home, have a peaceful trip, stay as calm as a troll like you can until you get back to your moirail. All that shit. You didn't expect to make any lasting connections on the train, especially ones that live in your area. You definitely didn't expect to meet anyone quite like Dave Strider. Apparently the universe likes to prove you wrong.</p><p>Somehow after that train ride, he fuses himself into your life. Another stubborn fucking barnacle with an uncanny ability to inconvenience you at every possible moment. Even while sleeping. But somehow, despite all the trouble, you still feel like he has the potential to make your life infuriatingly better. And you definitely can't act on it or let him know. Definitely.</p><p> </p><p>  <b>Updates Thursdays!</b></p><p> </p><p>Formerly 'Slip Sideways(etc)'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "David"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey this is my second homestuck fic(and my first long fic ever boy am I bad at these), I hope you all like it! I will try to update weekly if I can but I write in my spare time like most, and my schedule can be weird. Anyway! Enjoy this! If you've read my other oneshot, these two are not connected. Peace! Please leave feedback I love feedback!
> 
> I'm going to add character tags when they have speaking roles or major roles in the story, and relationships I guess when they're actually shown on-screen per se

“I spy… something….. green,” the Guy says.

Your hand clenches almost imperceptibly tighter on the armrest to your left, and a sigh exits your nose with a sound of acute disdain.

“David, I’m reading,” the young human woman on his right murmurs absently. “It’s not my fault you forgot your nap iPod in your checked bag before we got on the train, and therefore have to resort to-“

“Why’d we even have to check our bags? This little dude didn’t,” ‘David’ says quietly, and you don’t have to look away from where you're leaning into the window to know that your bags are being indicated. Your suitcase and husktop bags sit in front of the empty seat next to you.

You have a soft moment of surprise when you realize that this ‘David’ character called you a ‘dude’ instead of ‘troll’ or ‘alien’ or whatever moniker was more popular these days. You can remember a few years ago when ‘alien’ rushed back into existence, not as something intentionally rude but rather something that came on the heels of a popular news section featuring the cult Gamzee was a part of, when the normally peaceful organization decided to hotbox a giant tent and host a mass orgy that got entirely too much publicity.

Trolls have been on the planet Earth for some time now. A couple hundred years or so ago, there was a mass exodus of mainly lowbloods and some mutants like your family line from Alternia. The Condesce was away from the planet and there was something that distracted the drones and army, and they all took one big ship and made their escape. 

They teach everything about it in young troll schoolfeeding even though it was pretty recent… historically. Leaving out nothing, including the more violent natures of trolls and the culling habits, even in teaching children. They teach about how some people on the ship on the way to Earth were culled by a mass vote because they were too dangerous. One of Gamzee’s great great uncles, for example, had run out of his sopor for his addiction (it was being rationed) and killed three rust bloods and consumed parts of their flesh. He had been taken out. There was little regret.

“We checked our bags, dearest cousin," she says with a small amount of vitriol, "Because we are sitting together and foot room would be much less, seeing as we had quite an amount of luggage.”

You chance a look at them for the first time since they boarded the train. This girl sounds like she's making a great face and you want to see. 

The (cute. wait what the fuck) guy (blonde, you note consciously for whatever fucking reason) adjusts his sunglasses (black and somehow polarized, also noted) and sinks into his chair a tiny bit. “Right,” he says, and seems to give up.

For about five minutes.

You pull out a book and are through two pages before the guy mutters something about an observation deck and picks his laptop bag out of the hold over the chairs. The chairs across from him to be more specific; your seats. No, of course you don't look at him. At all. The fuck is wrong with you?

Some shuffling and mumbled rambling later and the blonde guy walks toward the back of the train car, bag slung over his shoulder, huge headphones hugging his neck and bow legs bracing evenly against the rocking of the passenger car. As if he walks on trains all the time.

You're fiddling with your hands until this distraction passes. Another little chip of black nail polish comes off of one of your point-filed nails, revealing the yellowed color underneath. You need to give yourself another manicure soon, or else you'll look like some kind of gross slum wriggler, peeling and dirty. Okay, not that extreme. Whatever. You frown and use the nail to turn the page of your book and continue reading, just stopping yourself from biting too hard into your lip. Bad habit.

The train rattles violently a bit, the dark-skinned girl who had spoken earlier turning her page as well, and after that, there's a good thirty minutes of blissful silence wherein the only noise is a bit of tinny music from someone’s shitty Apple headphones, and the occasional turned page. You manage another three chapters.

It was too good to be true.

At the next stop, this couple gets on. And they sit right behind you. And one of them cannot stop fucking with the footrest attached to the back your chair, and the other has their phone at its highest volume, and they. Are. Playing. Games. Your frustration builds at an embarrassing rate. Playing games. They're playing games. Ding ding ding. Ding. Brrrring! Ding.

You make sure to audibly groan (for the sake of that couple) and look over to the girl who is also still reading, as if for some kind of weak moral support. And guess what?????? She has headphones in. The bitch.

Instead of letting yourself rage - you promised Gamzee and Kanaya you would try, at least - you pick up your shoulder bag with your wallet and phone and keys, check that your luggage is closed, and shakily stand from your seat and vacate. You make sure to "accidentally" trip and knock over the couple's water bottle sitting on the previously and kindly mentioned tray table. You'll move back later, sure. Once you make sure there's a jacket conspicuously draped across your seat and that your tag shows that the seat is claimed, you walk down the aisle toward the observation deck. The dark-skinned girl winks at you as you leave. 

Okay.

\--

The observation deck is mostly deserted except for one middle-aged Nordstrom-wealth couple practically cuddling, and… that Guy. “David”? You think that's what you remember.

You sit down at the next table to the side of the Guy (the chair at the end of the table, at an angle to the large deck windows and at the same time, the Guy), and glance over at him. His laptop is out on his lap, huge headphones on his ears. Some beats can be heard from the headphones, and a mixing program can be made out on the laptop screen, if you crane hard enough and forget to be polite. Dude is fiddling with the program, obviously, bobbing his head occasionally. 

He glances over when you sit down, raising an eyebrow and adjusting his stupid aviators with a finger on the bridge. You casually shrug, flip him the bird in a friendly way because you're fucking polite but it's none of this dude’s fucking business, and take your book from under your right arm. 

You crack it back open and sigh, settling into the (less comfortable but less disturbed and quieter) seat. You cross your legs and pull your bag close, continuing to read and trying not to care that your leg will be asleep in approximately twenty minutes. 

The Guy (you should really introduce yourself or something, because "the Guy" sounds stupid and "David" is too familiar) takes one of his headphones off his ear as if listening for something. For a hot second you can hear that Rihanna song where she kidnaps Hannibal's wife in the music video. An invasive image of warm bodies touching and dancing in a tight space flashes across your internal camera, with dark sunglasses, flashing lights, moving hips, and you look out the large observation window with a bit of irritation at your own brain.

You need to get laid, probably. 

You dismiss the thought and shake it out of your shoulders. Nope. You're on a train.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and now is really not the time for fantasizing about fellow passengers. Seriously. What are you thinking? On a train. A train. This isn't Snowpiercer. No dancing on this train, fuck you. You go back to your book, mostly. You feel eyes on you for a second. The sound of the music muffles again, and you settle more firmly into your chair.


	2. Fuck no, it's Dave, you tiny idiot.

Murmurs, whispers. Soft sleeves on soft arms around you, the smell of baby powder and a little cologne. A warmth caresses your face and there is some kind of whir and a gentle breeze, golden light dances behind your eyelids like the filtered sunlight that falls on grass through the leaves of a tree on a spring day.

You squirm, something large is holding you down from the center of your chest. It presses down and you stop moving, it stops pressing, your breathing speeds up, your breathing speeds up, it presses and your breathing speeds up. The light disappears and you feel yourself shaken, the warmth turns to a cold wind on your face, pressing down into your nostrils and lungs and making the fingers on your left hand numb.

Running, you are blind and the hand presses into your chest, when did it become a hand? It presses –

You jolt awake to the feeling of your phone vibrating in your pocket.

For a second you freak out, you aren’t sure if you missed your stop. You pull out your phone and first check the time. Only out for half an hour. That’s good. The phone also says Kankri’s calling and you sigh and swipe the green circle right before it goes to voicemail. You glance around while you put it up to your ear and find that you fell asleep in the observation car. That blonde guy is still there.

A shaft of light runs just through his shades with the angle of the sun. He’s staring at you out of the side of his eyes, intently.

You look away quickly, hoping he’ll follow suit, and start talking.

“ _¿Bueno?_ ”

“Karkat, _¿Cuando estás llegando?_ ”Your brother sounds irritated already. Is he waiting for you at the station? You take your phone away from your ear and look at the time again. The ETA on your ticket doesn’t even pass for another two hours at least, and the train was late in the first place.

“ _Te lo llamaré cuando llego_ ,” you reply, trying not to let irritation creep into your voice so you don’t have to drag this conversation on longer than it needs to go. You continue in the same tongue, _“Are you waiting at the station or something? I told you last time-“_

The raised voice that comes through the receiver makes you flinch. _“Don’t take that tone with me Karkat, I don’t want you waiting in a bad part of town for me to come get you.“_

_“I’ll be fine Kankri, it’s not like I’m some kind of wimpy little white nerdchild and the train station isn’t some kind of unsavory fucking dive where hobos and gangs will be waiting to accost me and mug me for my hard-earned blood diamonds. I’ll call you when I get there.”_

_“… fine then. You know what I have to say about your hateful language. Better fix it and be behaving for when_ Papá _comes to get you.”_

_“Dad?! I thought you were coming to get me! What the fuck Kankri, I’m too tired to deal with-“_

_“He offered and I have a tour to give. It’s a Monday, be thankful someone is available,”_ he pauses a bit before adding softly, _“Your family misses you._ Papá _misses you and wants to talk, okay.”_

You have few kind words to say, so you don’t. Kankri hangs up after some tense goodbyes, and you breathe like the conversation had been suffocating you; you cough like speaking so much Spanish at once has clogged your throat, and find your knuckles are white.

When you look up, you find the guy is still watching, out of the side of his eyes, from behind his fucking stupid shades. They’re polarized, you shouldn’t be able to see his eyes. Or maybe they’re not? (note redacted) Letting your eyes wander down his arm from his face, you find his headphones are around his neck now and his right-hand middle and index fingers are rapping some complex beat on his laptop.

They still. Your eyes shoot back up to his face and you let them narrow. You speak somehow without the consent of your brain, you feel. “David,” you begin with some venom and you already hate what your mouth is doing, “Is it? Do you lack all social tact or do you just have a thing for staring and listening to things that are none of your business.” You flinch again.

It’s his turn to frown and he rolls his eyes, looking back to his computer. (victory)

“Fuck no, it’s Dave, you tiny idiot,” he replies in the same flat way that his eyes stared at you. He mumbles something that sounds like ‘observant tiny idiot’ and you manage not to let your lip curl at that.

The train rattles. The wealthy-seeming couple from earlier is still here, you can hear them, from a whisper and a chuckle. Your tongue continues to act independent from the rest of you. You’re being… a little aggressive. But. Brain says that there’s no choice but to commit at this point (you can feel Kanaya sigh from miles and miles away) and you attempt to stare him down.

“Find a better fucking comeback, assmunch, I know I’m short.”

He chuckles and for some reason you feel a little rush.

“I bet you do, you compensate pretty hard in all that anger.”

“I’m sure you’re familiar with compensation. You must have to do a lot of it,” you give his crotch a half-second pointed look and that gets another chuckle.

His eyes are back on you when you look back up, and his eyebrows look a little frozen and tense.

Vainly (you feel guilty for the vanity already) you wonder if he’s admiring the red hue of your irises with the light of the setting sun in them. But you realize then that you’re smiling. When you smile, you’re scary, you remember being told. When you smile, your sharp, jagged teeth show. It scares humans, you remember. You bite your lip with them, like earlier. You can taste the blood on the inside.

There’s an awkward moment where you thought you were going to say something and he probably thought he was going to say something, and you both stay quiet.

The moment is too awkward. You unclench your fingers from the spine of the book and stretch your hand, it having fallen asleep. The other one tingles and you figure that one had fallen asleep before your phone call, too. Someone reopens (it was probably you) your book and you immediately close it. You grit your teeth and look out the window.

“Wow, this is really awkward,” Dave (you know his name is Dave now. Dave.) says, half like it’s a joke and half like it’s some kind of inevitable fate.

“No shit,” You reply, and look over at him. “I guess before the pause gets anymore pregnant I should introduce myself.”

“Who the fuck talks like that?”

“Me, noodle-bulge.”

“Point.”

“Karkat. That’s my name,” you finish, and try to remember how normal people introduce themselves. Not because it’s a human versus troll thing as if that kind of shit still exists, but because you never leave your house. You end up holding out your hand to shake.

He slaps it from the side. You hiss in surprise and frown at him.

“Cool deal bro, cooler than an iceberg in Sweden wearing sunglasses on a skateboard. Want to get something to eat?” There’s a shadow in the car again and you can no longer see even where his eyes are, much less if they’re looking at you.

“What?”

“Alright so this may be a bit fast and I didn’t even ask to meet your father first or anything, but I’m asking if you, compadre, want to go eat together, because I’m hungry and this is awkward and we’re obviously both bad at social things.”

You keep staring and he keeps talking.

“Also I’m almost out of things to do on my computer, you’re interesting, etc etc let’s get on with this because if you even think about saying no I might just go by myself and after this point that would beel awkward. Please coddle my poor weak human feelings, mister Karkat, don’t let me finish this sentence because I’m going to start saying potentially offensive things about fucking quadrants and let’s be fucking real neither of us want that.”

You have some kind of fiery internal reaction to the mention of him talking about quadrants, and you tamp down your intense opinions about human romance because as he said, weak human feelings.

He makes a subtle expression with his eyebrows that means he knows you’re going to come, and stands, laptop having been put away already. He ruffles your hair as he passes and you growl. As you stand he waits by the stairs, and when you start over he descends. You follow. For what reason you have no idea.

\--

About ten minutes later, you have a ginger ale and a sandwich in a box in front of you. You have no idea how he managed to distract you into spending ten dollars on this sad amount of food. You also have little idea how he managed to weasel a box of apple juice out of the vendor. He’s eating his hot cup ramen. You peel open your sandwich.

Thankfully they had some troll options. You’re not opposed to human food at all but the grubloaf makes you feel a little calmer.

“Honestly, I just didn’t want to eat without your lovely angry face,” he says, and you pause. The dining car moves a bit and you straighten in the booth seat.

“What a wriggler.”

“Guilty. So I’ve never met a troll with red eyes before, what’s up with that.”

“Wow.”

“I’m a real conversationalist.”

“Well I’m not going to tell you, asshole. Figure it out. I bet you have an idea. Rude question, anyway.”

“Yeah I’m aware. It just came to mind.”

So Dave was that kind of human. That kind of jerk-off who would ask the rude questions just because. Who wouldn’t ‘beat around the bush’. Who would play devil’s advocate because ‘someone had to.’ Your shoulders are tensing up again and you sigh and roll your neck. (It didn’t matter. You would probably never see this guy again. You wonder if you’d be able to just get up and leave and he’d leave you alone.) Travel makes you very tired. Leaving Gamzee’s made you tired. You’re tired.

He sighs, and for a second you think he’s copying you. But then he speaks. Okay.

“Wow, that was gross of me. I’m not that kind of jerk, I swear on my fucking stupid blade. You’re just… interesting. And I’m tired. Golf with no limits, all that shit.”

“Hmmm, tell me more. Really.”

He takes that literally. “Well like your… all of it,” he manages, gesturing widely to you.

“Okay. Well it’s not going to be story hour here for you,” you say, taking a bite of your sandwich. You realize it’s been seven hours since you ate and you almost moan at the dry loaf and mayo. Gross.

“Sure. Fine. I can work with this. Sure thing my man. You wanna know anything about me? Wanna play a game?” He’s still talking.

“Yeah I’ll bite. What do you do?” You ask, and make sure to look right where his eyes should be and take another big bite, showing teeth.

“Besides jamming and writing sweet-ass comics for royalties, generally being cool and attracting all the hunnies like I’m the bee’s knees with the sweet peas and I’m tall as trees and throwing beats, doing feats and –“

“Okay, stop, stop. Stop.” You almost snort into your ginger ale.

You’re kind of entertained by the idea that he looks disappointed that you interrupted what you’re sure was going to be a riveting glance into the world of his ‘sick’ raps that you definitely don’t give five shits about.

“I mix and make music and sell it online alongside my somtimes DJ gigs and get royalties off of my previously waxed-about sweet-ass comics. I’m not famous or anything so you don’t have to worry about the nasty paps thinking we’re the next BrAngelina because unfortunately I’m not hot enough to be Brad Pitt and they could give less than a crap about a hick from Houston.”

“Alright, sure, I buy the DJ thing. That sounds uh. Interesting.”

“Yeah it pays the bills.”

“…”

And that’s the start of another amazingly blank pause in which you have a short staring contest with a pair of glasses and thank everything that you won’t be talking to this guy after this train ride.

You fill the silence. “So. A game?”

“I have this great one where we draw four lines that intersect at a few places and write shapes in them. You try to get three in a row.”

“Wow, sounds great.” You have a pretty tight schedule between nothing and absolute fuckall.

“He'll yeehaw partner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited the first chapter (9/28)so if you haven't read it today please do, let me redeem myself for the crap I published on impulse =>=
> 
> Also Hello I am not going to write out all the Spanish, as I don't want to butcher the language and it's been so long since I spoke it! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and have a great day, and feel free to leave feedback, I love feedback!


	3. You have arrived at your destination

There are crude human dicks all over the napkin. All over it. Dave’s hand is holding yours and scratching so many dicks into the leaf. The wrapper from your sandwich falls off the table and you growl and try to pry your hands away instead of redirect the pen, but you can’t. He’s laughing under his breath and trying to stay quiet. You’re about to start yelling, you take in a huge breath to begin. 

Your phone rings. The yell catches in your throat and you almost hack around it. He lets your hands go. 

Turns out it wasn’t ringing. That was your alarm. Right on cue, the guy over the intercom says something about the next stop, and you hear your stop’s name. Oh. Two hours already went by?

Dave’s eyebrows make a panicked face for a split second before jumping up and looking around to make sure he has all his things. 

“Shit, Rose is wondering where I am.”

“Uh,” you manage intelligently.

“I’m sorry, fun-size, but I gotta split, stop’s coming up I think you have to as well. See you upstairs and then never again most likely.”

You watch as he leaves and then stand up to throw your trash away. 

You move upstairs post-haste, and see the Dave guy up there. He seems busy explaining something to the girl he was with in a very long-winded way, while she collects her things and he gathers the rest of his. Whatever. You’re a little miffed that he just left like that. But you won’t talk. You expected to never see him again. You expected it. 

Speaking of which, you check to see if you have all your stuff, and once you do and your jacket is back on, you take your bag and stand with it in the aisle, preparing to go downstairs to wait for the doors to open. Before you know it, you’re on the platform by the buses and taking your phone out to call your dad. 

You feel a hand in your back pocket and jump. You look up to see the guy waving at you a little and winking, twenty feet away and getting farther. Dave. Not the guy. 

His hand moves to tap his pocket and you look down to see a slip of paper sticking out of your pants. You open your mouth to yell at him about respecting boundaries but you hear a voice that jolts you into your own present. 

“ _¿Mijo?_ ”

Oh yeah, you were calling your dad. You watch Dave walk away toward some monstrosity of a bright orange sports car with… you guess Rose, in tow. He waves, your hand is frozen at your side and you don’t wave back. You bite your lower lip and it still hurts from earlier. 

“ _Mijo. ¿Karkat?_ ”

You focus on the shoe marks on the ground and your phone call. 

“ _Ay, lo siento padre. ¿Puedes recogerme ahora?_ ”

“ _SÍ, Karkat. ¿Donde esperas?_ ”

“ _Al lado del auto._ ”

“Bus?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, _hasta pronto._ ”

You hang up the phone. You look up and the car that the human got into is peeling away.

After some ten minutes waiting, you see your father’s Infiniti pull up to the curb next to you, just inside the drop off lane, and you pull your bag handle back out and head toward it. 

A tall man with horns identical to yours steps out, tired lines under his eyes and the stiff straight collar just slightly askew. He smiles warmly at you as you step toward the trunk, and helps lift your bags into the hatch. One of his nails is cracked. 

It feels like a long time since you’ve seen your father. Realistically it’s only been… eleven months now. Hasn’t it. 

_“It is good to see you, mijo,”_ he begins, in his gravelly, quick Spanish. Slightly Castillian accent to lilt the language.

_“Yeah Dad.”_

You both get into the car. It’s stiff, and tense, and awkward, but you feel warm anyway and you are tired from the trip. That’s the only reason why you slip and call him that. 

You see him smile at the familiar term, though. 

_“I suppose Kankri told you I wanted to talk.”_

You sigh. 

_“Yes father.”_

_“Well, I know you’re probably tired from your trip. I won’t hold you for too long and take you straight to your home. Okay?”_

You don’t answer, and instead reach out to turn the vent, grumbling about the air temperature. 

_“Well. I just wanted to tell you that… I am sorry.”_

You tighten.

_“What I said so long ago. It was wrong. I have thought a lot about it.”_

You don’t respond and look out the window.

_“I know now that the only thing I can do for you is love you and let you be as you are, Karkat. My teachings spoke only of acceptance and I did not give it to you. I wish for you to forgive me but I understand if you cannot. I am trying to change this. You and Kankri… sometimes you are all I have. And the fact that you wanted to be so different from us scared me.”_

This was getting into some really shitty territory. For some reason, though, your father doesn’t continue.

About half an hour later you get to your apartment. Gate, gate key, turn, turn, park.

_“Okay, father.”_

_“I want you to come to dinner with me at the house on Saturday.”_

“Okay.”

There is a deep breath in the car when he realizes you agreed.

_“Can I embrace you, mijo?”_

_“Okay.”_

You’re out of the car, bags equipped, and he comes around the idle vehicle and gives you the most awkward hug possible with all your things hanging off of you. But his hands are large and warm on your back, and his shoulder is bony against your chin, and he squeezes you so tight. You didn’t know how much you missed it, and the feeling is a little raw. 

_“Thank you.”_

_“No problem dad.”_

He tries to smile at you, and you turn around and carry your things upstairs. You hear him drive away when you unlock and open your door. 

The first thing you do when you get inside is lock the door, and then (gracefully) flop onto the sofa face-first, husktop bag falling on your back, suitcase kind of tipping over onto the carpet. You sigh, You bury your face into the cushion. The air conditioning comes on and your hand finds the remote somewhere under you.

Before you can turn on the TV, however, your phone dings from your pocket. 

A confused noise makes its way out of you and you pull the offending object out. Oh. Kanaya. 

Immediately you feel less weary, and would grin if you weren’t too busy frowning. The Trollian app had been silent for your entire trip. 

\-- grimAuxilliatrix [GA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

KANAYA: Hello Karkat  
KANAYA: You Are Home I Assume  
KANAYA: I Am Coming Over  
KARKAT: OKAY I GUESS.  
KARKAT: PLEASE BRING ME TACOS.  
KANAYA: I Thought You Must Have Eaten On The Train  
KARKAT: YES, NO SHIT, BUT THAT WAS HOURS AGO.  
KARKAT: AND I’M UNFORTUNATELY NOT GOING TO BE AWAKE LONG ENOUGH  
KARKAT: TO HAVE DINNER AT A LATER TIME.  
KANAYA: I Am Still Coming Over. I Will See You In Thirty Minutes.  
KARKAT: OKAY.  
KARKAT: ♢   
KANAYA: ♢ 

\-- grimAuxilliatrix [GA] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

\---

The door receives several loud knocks twenty-eight minutes later, and you tumble off of the sofa where you had fallen asleep with an especially manly scream. 

“Karkat, the door, please.”

A sound that is at the same time not loud enough and also unintelligible leaves your mouth and you drag yourself from the floor and open the door. You unlock it, not bothering to open it and instead making your way over to the kitchen adjacent to the door and putting some water in a mug for Kanaya’s tea. 

She lets herself in, leaving her shoes by the door, while you put the mug in the microwave and warm the water. Her hands open your tea cabinet while you watch the mug spin behind the small window, and she takes out a bag of Red Zinger with a small pleased noise, like she always does. 

You put the mug full of hot water on the counter, she puts in the teabag, tsks at your lack of a kettle, like always. A plastic bag that smells delicious is put in the then-empty microwave. You both go to sit on the sofa, her by the arm and you in the middle, leaning into her side with the dregs of sleep still pulling at your eyes. 

“So. Tell me about your trip,” she begins, inhaling over the mug. 

“I already did, Kanaya, we spoke every day that I was in Austin if you don’t fucking remember.”

“I meant your travel from there to here, and you know it.”

You sigh into her tone, leaning your head onto her shoulder at the gentle reprimand as you wake up more fully with her presence. “Yeah, I know it.”

“Yes you do, and now that this is settled, tell me about your trip.”

“Well there was this very annoying couple sitting behind me after the stop in Temple…”

And you tell her about the whole thing, about not finishing your book, about being spoken about by the two adults your age, about how nice the observation car was, about the older upper-middle-class couple in that car and how they have a relationship you will never have (that’s awfully wrong, dear), about that guy and his horribly irritating personality, how he forced you to go to the dining car with him and his awful taste in music (you like that music, dear), how he made you draw the human dicks on the napkins and how warm his human skin was against yours and how gross it was (I seriously doubt your sincerity at this point, dear), about him touching your waist before he just disappeared (what?), about the stupidly loud orange car he drove away in (… dear), about how stupid his sunglasses were (did you get his number, dear?), about how… 

“What?”

“Karkat, you are talking an awful lot about this human.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Your arms are waving a lot and disturbing my tea.”

“So what?”

Kanaya sighs and puts down her now half-empty cup, and looks at Karkat. “Why did he touch your waist?” She asks, then, out of the blue.

You start to open your mouth, and then remember staring at him like some hoofbeast waste, and him tapping his pocket in a very pointed way. Jolting a bit, you pull yourself a bit away from Kanaya’s side and reach into your pocket. You find a small piece of paper, pull it out, and Kanaya makes a small satisfied noise and picks her tea back up. You unfold the paper and a handle stares back at you. Okay. 

You pull out your phone, open Trollian and are about to insert the handle into a new contact when Kanaya speaks again.

“How was the ride here with Kankri?”

You freeze, and you’re officially fully awake. Something like a mix of confusion and anger sets into your throat and you reply, “He wasn’t the one who picked me up. It was my father.”

Kanaya puts down her tea, and one of her hands begins to card through your hair. You slump into the back of the couch.

“He wanted to apologize,” You answer the unasked question. “And he wants me to come to dinner on Saturday.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“… would you do that? Really?”

“Of course,” she almost coos, and massages one of your horn beds just a bit before scratching at your scalp again. 

\--

Twenty minutes later, Kanaya is sitting cross-legged on the floor, one of your hands in hers as she gives you a quick and efficient manicure. Your other hand is shoveling tacos into your mouth, and the movie _In Which A Lowblood has Been a Bridesmaid Twenty-Seven Times, is in Love With Her Indigo-Blooded Boss But Finds a Much More Suitable Moiraillegiance With Him and a Matespritship With an Attractive Yellow-Bloodded Reporter, Amidst Strife With her More Conventionally Attractive Sister_ is playing in the background.

“Do you accept your father’s apology?”

“I’m not sure yet,” you reply, wiping the corner of your mouth with a napkin, and admiring the hand that is already done being worked on. 

“He did hurt you, and you hurt him(albeit less), quite a bit,” Kanaya continues, finishing with the filing of the last nail, and pulling the bottle of Claw Fortifier toward her on the table. You don’t reply until she is done applying that to your nails and has begun the basecoat. Actually, you don’t reply at all, and she is halfway through applying your coat of black polish before she speaks again.

“From what you described to me just earlier, he seems to love you very much and very much wants to be back in your life. Forgiveness can take some time, Karkat. Do not feel rushed.”

“Yes, I know,” you agree somewhat hesitantly. But you trust her. Kanaya is your moirail, and she only wants what’s best for you. 

“Knowing and doing are very separate things,” she continues, and before you realize it, she is applying the top coating and placing your hand under the small fan to dry. She works fast. As do you, but Kanaya has a kind of precision with doing your nails that you assume only comes from being a professional claw-groomer at one of the larger highblood salons in Fort Worth. 

Despite being a groomer, she moves to sit on the couch next to you and then shows you her claws. “Once she gets stuck in the rain with the journalist, you should do mine. I could use a touch-up.”

“If you insist,” you grumble half-heartedly.

“I very much do.”

Kanaya gets up to fetch herself a couple of Oreos and a new cup of tea, and you look at your phone out of habit. Unlocking it, you find the half-entered handle from before. You finish putting it in, and send the request. 

Almost so fast it surprises you, you receive a new message. 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

TG: yo  
TG: new phone who dis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tried formatting pesterlogs, hope it works for everything!


	4. splitsville?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapters earns its explicit content label. have fun

It’s hot, and you can’t stop trembling. Your knee keeps hitting the wall to your left and you hope you aren’t bothering the people on the other side. Well, you would be worrying about it if you weren’t busy moaning through your raw throat like a cheap whore. The most fucking exquisite pain in the world coming from this insufferable asshole with his fingers in your underwear.

You can’t see anything, the dim light in the room notwithstanding. You gasp, then whine when he finds just the right spot, and rolls right over it deliberately. “So sexy,” he murmurs in your ear. 

“Ffffuckkkkkkk.”

“Mhm, so fucking sexy.”

“Hnnnn just, more, just.”

“What was that?” He finds the spot again and your hips and whole body flex, you can’t keep still. You want it to end, but never stop. Sweat is beading on your forehead and his mouth is on yours. Hot tongue in your mouth. His hands are almost surreal in their precision as he pushes your head to the side to breathe on your neck. You feel murderous.

“Fucking, just,” you lose coherence when he attacks that spot inside of you with his fingers for a solid minute, and rubs at the space between your bulge and nook with his thumb. You’re begging, hot, twitching, god please, oh god please, god, god, god, fuck.

“That’s flattering, but that’s not my name.” He lays off the bundle of nerves and licks the front of your throat, his own hips grinding on your thigh, trapping your lashing bulge. 

“C’mon, please,” you hear yourself moan, lips sticky with spit and his hand tangling harshly in your hair. 

“I want to hear my name,” he replies. Frank, knowing, infuriating. The worst. The fucking worst. You’re silent for too long, breathing open-mouthed. His lips close around your adam’s apple and suck, but it’s not enough. Not enough pressure. Two of his fingers trace around the spot, agonizingly, and his thumb pushes up on the base of your bulge again. “Kitkaaaaat,” He croons.

There are aggravated clicking sounds in your chest as you cry out. “Dave, Dave. Dave,” you manage, the name spilling out haphazardly after the first time. 

And he must be satisfied with that, because he launches a new assault on your nook, punishing the spot inside you with those fingers, biting down on the skin of the side of your throat, hand in your hair twisting in the best way, and you’re reaching and your hands are everywhere and nowhere and you’re– 

Awake.

You feel sticky and unpleasant. 

“Ay, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, and pull your blankets up to see that yup, you totally made a huge mess. This is the second time in a month.

You’re very glad that you decided to invest in one of those plastic stainproof and waterproof covers after hearing a human girl talk about it helping keep her mattress clean for her period. Which… ew. Thank god trolls didn’t deal with menstruation, even females.

Your phone dings, and you reach over to pick it up off where it had fallen onto the floor. Luckily it was plugged in, because when you open it, it reveals you fell asleep in the middle of a Let’s Play you had been watching when you went to bed. And you hate it when your phone dies.

Anyways. You switch yourself on over to the chat app.

And, as usual, it’s Dave. You conciously look at the time on the phone, it’s 3 AM. You shiver and honestly you want to ignore him because it’s cold and you’re tired. But you eye the wet spot and resign yourself to this. Almost two months of messaging and he doesn’t understand good timing. 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

TG: yo  
TG: so late  
TG: you answered fast were you having a wet dream about me or something and your troll spidey senses began to tingle along with other places and you knew i was talking to you  
TG: understandable i admit i am pretty irresistible and teachers tell me im a joy to have in class  
CG: I MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT HAVE THAT.  
CG: WHY MUST YOU START EVERY CONVERSATION THIS WAY.  
CG: ESPECIALLY WHEN OTHER, MORE RESPONSIBLE ADULTS ARE ATTEMPTING SLEEP.  
CG: YOU FAT SACK.  
CG: OF SHIT.  
TG: love you too dear  
CG: STOP CALLING ME THAT, IDIOT.  
CG: STUPID NOOKWHIFF, YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND.  
TG: yeah i know you love to mention it  
TG: speaking of thats not even fact anymore  
CG: YEAH RIGHT. YOU’RE JUST BEING CONTRARY.  
TG: no really we split  
TG: three hours ago to be specific  
TG: im hurting man and you have no sympathy  
TG: leaving me all alone here in the dust to dissolve like water evaporating in the vicious heat with a broken heart  
TG: and you call yourself my friend after all that  
CG: DO YOU WANT TO COME OVER.  
TG: be there in three shakes

\-- turntechGodhead [TG]  
ceased pestering  
carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

You grind your hand into your forehead. If there’s anything you can’t resist, it’s relationship stuff. Drama, comedy, love, hate, arguments, giving advice(you’re addicted to it), and so on. It’s a real fucking weakness and Dave knows it. 

Of course, this is also out of compassion for him, you guess. Inviting him over was something you didn’t think about. At least he waited for you to invite him this time, but as you glace back over to the red stain on your (thankfully) black sheets, you growl to yourself and remember. You’re filled with regret. You held it together last time you had to see him right after one of these dreams. You’ll be fine. Cool. A total mess.

You scream a little to yourself in the privacy of your pillow, and stand up, making sure to throw the clean quilt and blankets off the bed. All you have to wash is the topsheet down. All of that is rolled into a ball, and you take it to the washer. You don’t have work in the morning, thank god. After Dave leaves you can take a nap. 

There has to be some guesswork as to when Dave is actually going to show up. You go into your room and light your cashmere candle next to your bed, because even though your sheets are gone, it still smells like pailing in here. Quickly you change boxers and wipe down your legs, throw on your old, big black sweater your dad had given you when you were a teenager (no fuck everyone, it’s just comfy what the fuck is sentiment. What does it even mean it was only unearthed after you and dad made up). 

You attempt to straighten some things up in here, open your husktop and put on some music while you putter around and throw some new sheets on the mattress and just put the rest of the blankets on in a pile because it’s 3AM. 

Right when you’re pulling out a juice box for Dave (he bought some for your apartment because he’s a fucking child and wants juice when he visits. No you don’t give a shit. He bought it. You just want to keep it cold cause it’s better cold, everyone knows that) there’s a knock on the door. You walk over and open it, let him in (his face lights up at the juice as far as you can tell and you know what fuck it it’s cute but that’s definitely not why you have the juice). 

After locking the door and briefly lamenting the fact that he just left his shoes lopsidedly thrown by the couch, you growl at him.

“So you and Terezi?”

“Splitsville,” he replies, and sinks onto a barstool.

“What happened,” you ask, and start making tea for yourself. It wasn’t just there for Kanaya. You make Jasmine, your favorite.

“You have any pizza rolls or anything?”

“Don’t avoid the question. And do I look like a fucking high schooler?” You pull out the pizza rolls anyway, and pour out the rest of the bag on a plate and shove it in the microwave.

“We decided to separate. It was mutual.”

“Was it really?” You put honey in your tea.

He pops the straw off the apple juice and snaps the straw straight. “Yeah. We both just stopped feeling it. And she had someone else.”

A realization dawns on you. You stir your tea. “Back to Gamzee.” You say it quiet enough that you don’t really try to hear it.

“God no. Vriska.”

Now that’s a little more surprising. You actually look at him as the microwave dings. 

He continues talking, and finally stabs into his juice box with the pointed end of the straw. “I think it’s red, cause she knows I would have been fine if it was in a quadrant that I wasn’t. I can never tell with Vriska though.”

“I’ve been getting some weird black vibes from her to John in a couple group chats so I’m pretty sure it’s red.” When he looks surprised at that, you close your mouth and use a hot mitt to take the pizza rolls out and put them on the counter. That probably wasn't yours to reveal.

He eats one and then spends a good amount of time complaining in a whisper about how stupid the microwave is and how hot the food is.

Your phone dings from your sweater. 

\-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

GC: K4RK4T  
GC: 1S D4V3 W1TH YOU  
CG: YES.  
GC: GOOD  
GC: T1M3 TO M4K3 4 MOV3 K1TK4T  
CG: PLEASE DON’T CALL ME THAT.  
CG: AND WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU CARRYING ON ABOUT.  
GC: H3’S A FR33 M4N 4ND YOU 4R3 R1P3 4ND MOON1NG FOR H1S HUM4N SH4M3GLOB3S  
GC: GO G3T ‘3M AS D4V3 WOULD S4Y  
GC: G00D LUCK  
CG: LAST TIME I TELL YOU ABOUT ANYTHING IN MY LIFE, INCLUDING MY SHITTY DREAMS. I WAS DRUNK. I DO NOT HAVE ANY FLUSHED FEELINGS FOR HIM. GOODBYE.  
GC: >:]

\-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

“Holy shitchrist.”

“What? Who was that?” Dave is eating more pizza rolls. They cooled a bit more already. 

“Who do you think, shitforbrains?”

“She sound okay?” He’s licking tomato sauce off his hand.

“Yeah she sounds amazing. Fantastic, even.”

“That’s good,” he says with finality. You hope they ended up well enough but at the same time you were hoping for some drama. It strikes you that he came to you for company. Despite the friendliness of the split, it still sucks getting out of a relationship. You suddenly don’t have someone to go to all the time, someone to lay around with, someone to be intimate with.

Thinking about Terezi and Dave being intimate makes you feel some confusing things and you frown, and drink your tea. 

You reach for a pizza roll and stuff it in your mouth and chew. 

Well, it doesn’t matter right now. Dave needs… comforting, you guess? Humans don’t have moirails, which is stupid. The closest thing Dave has to one of those is either Rose or John, you think? And they’re both assholes.

“Do you want to play Mario Kart?” He asks, suddenly, and you curse yourself for not thinking of that sooner. You yawn. 

“Yeah. I won’t gloat when I win.”

“As if you’ll win.”

\-- 

And, two hours later, the room is starting to be illuminated by something other than lamplight. Dave’s decimated another juice box, and the rest of the pizza rolls, as well as you. In Mario Kart. 

You stopped caring about winning after his eleventh consecutive first place, and started caring about making it as hard for him as possible to get first place. You’re hanging upside down on the couch and he’s laughing as you nail him with another red shell, then a blue shell, then work on setting up an encampment of bananas at a narrow pass that you’re now dubbing “banana town.”

You screech when he gets one hand behind your left knee (the one closest to him) and starts shoving you off the cushions. Some angry yelling on your part and talented one-handed gameplay on his later, and he’s pulling in at third place and you’re on the floor, fuming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there are some things in this AU that traveled and merged in troll vernacular and american english, like husktop and wriggler. But there are a lot of things that didn't. anyway! please enjoy, I hope all yall are having a good day whenever you read this, and thank you very very much for reading ^_^


	5. thanks waifu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im getting better at this whole writing thing I think

Oh right. You had forgotten about the dream.

Unfortunately your body has not. And when Dave reaches out to grab your upper arm to pull you up, you have a flash of your earlier conversation with Terezi that you had pretended not to understand. That one.

You end up shoving it down, because tonight, with the movies and video games, is for this bulgemunch on your couch. Conveniently because of the troll you just decided to remember. You like to comfort as much as possible without getting pale. You do this for all of your friends, probably. 

He ends up not making any motions to leave despite the time (even after he looks at his phone), as you thought would happen, and you put in a movie after you get off the floor.

\--

When you wake up, the sunlight is thankfully not streaming through the windows (all hail blackout curtains), and your legs are tangled with Dave’s on the couch. He’s snoring slightly and his glasses are just askew enough that you can see blonde eyelashes. 

He wouldn’t want you staring at his eyes though, you know that. So you untangle yourself gently and pick up your phone on the way to the kitchen to make coffee. 

You start the coffee brewing after rinsing the carafe, and drag your thumb across the phone screen to unlock it. You have a few texts and a missed call from Gamzee. A small smile(a habit you never quite got rid of) makes its way to your face for just a minute before you check the time and realize that it’s… well it’s a little past noon which is still way early for him to be texting or calling you. Much less be conscious. 

Might as well call him before Dave wakes up and reserves (demands) your attention.

 

\--

You’ve been on the phone with Gamzee for about ten minutes (it turns out he’s fine and just had been up all night), checking up on him, when you hear him take a bubbling drag off of something, then exhale after holding it in. For a brief moment you’re glad it’s a drug that he can at least think on, so you know he’s not talking out of his anal sphincter about all this. It’s also good to hear that he’s doing human drugs, still, even though they’re still illegal in this state. They’re much more harmless, even though he always gets a little needy when he gets stoned. It makes you remember the older times, and you have to kick yourself like a drug addict before you let your brow go soft and interrupt your lovely morning scowl. 

“Alright Karbro. Oh and hey, before I forget, how’s your pops and you doin’?”

Alright so he’s being needy and also considerate. You get a little tense.

“We’re getting… better. I’ll talk to you later Gamz.”

“Later Karbro. Say hi to Kan-sis for me.”

“Will do.”

That conversation was oddly long for you guys. You set your phone down harder than necessary and slide your somehow now empty coffee cup into the sink. Which is good, because Dave decides to appear out of thin air like a fucking ghoul and scare the living fucking shit out of you, and makes you very happy that you had nothing in your hands. 

You definitely don’t scream. 

He definitely laughs his ass off for about five minutes, which is coincidentally a great timeframe for turning red and leaving the room to go move the sheets to the dryer like you just happened to remember at that moment. 

“Oh my god Karkles, that was the fucking funniest thing ever.”

“Sorry, what?”

“You shrieked like a little girl,” you hear him laugh as you move to the laundry room and begin angrily shoving the still mostly-wet sheets into the dryer.

He’s still laughing, clutching his stomach and stupid fucking sunglasses sliding down his nose with the force of his giggles, when you come back to the kitchen.

“You can just fucking leave now, thanks,” you growl in a rather level way if you do say so yourself.

He says a confident no, pushes up his glasses, and plunks himself down at the table. Like a goddamn child he makes grabby hands for the cereal. 

“You’re an adult, get it yourself,” you scold him even as you pull down the fucking cereal from the refrigerator. 

“Cup, please,” he reminds you as you take out two bowls. You put one back.

“I almost forgot that you eat cereal like a complete freak.”

“It’s part of my charm. Besides. A cup makes it easier to drink the milk. Fo sho.” His monotone is just incredibly annoying and definitely not cute in any way.

You can’t tell if he’s sleepy or not, but he does smack your ass when you put the cup and milk in front of him after you pour your own, and you almost rip him a fucking new one when he punctuates it with a ‘thanks waifu,’ and acts like this is commonplace human interaction. You do yell a little bit, but wear yourself out shortly after remembering that your cereal is probably getting soggy. 

You think back to getting to know him. It’s been interesting. He just kind of tried to insert himself into your life. He only succeeded at that when he started dating Terezi after meeting her at one of his gigs. Since then, he’s wormed himself into your existence and tied your two friend groups loosely together as a result. Apparently he’s related to one of Kanaya’s friends, too, and that probably helped. In the end he just seems to want to be a constant annoyance in your life. 

You have to admit that even though you and Terezi tried dating and it didn’t work back in high school, you were a tiny bit jealous of both of them for having the other. Of course it was the worst match ever made in heaven, with both of them total freaks and obsessed with “cool” in different ways. Terezi’s half sister really liked Dave because of this, and his shitty kick flip skills.

Dave pops you out of your reverie by flicking a cheerio at your forehead. It sticks. You hiss at him. 

“So who was that on the phone, Karkitten.”

“Nosy, much?”

“Not recognizing conversation starters, much?”

“Touché.”

“So who was it?”

“Gamzee.”

“That’s the crazy stoner, right? The one in the juggalo cult.”

You bristle reflexively. Dave is silent for a whole blessed five minutes in which you eat some of your breakfast, get more coffee, and remove the small ring from your skin.

Dave speaks again. “You don’t talk about him much and you were coming back from seeing him when we met, right?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re just friends.”

He snorts and takes a few more bites. “Well I didn’t ask, but since you seem to want to have that talk, it doesn’t really seem that way.”

“We were moirails, you impotent asshockeying sack of worm feces. Nosy fucking asshole prying into my business like it’s your job.” You kind of regret that. You also really don’t. You do, in fact, regret providing him with a bunch of information he didn’t ask for. You thought you were standoffish or something.

He’s silent for a bit.

“Sorry, man.”

You don’t respond and focus on wiping off your already clean forehead, then on finishing your cereal. “Whatever, you colossal douchelord.”

“I just wanted to know about your friend that I may or may not have heard was coming to visit. Sorry about the eavesdropping dude. Bad habit.”

“It makes sense,” you reply roughly, serrated. Remembering your past relationship with Gamzee is fine. Having to say it out loud to a potential flushed partner is totally different. You didn’t have to tell Dave, you know. But you’re anything if not honest. Clumsily. When you don’t need to say anything.

“Okay.”

You sigh. You don’t want to forgive him like that. But it’s a normal question to ask. A potential concupiscent partner has a right to know anyway. 

Wait, since when have you been talking about Dave as a potential partner?

Jesus fucking buddha on a filthy washrag, you need to control your own narrative. 

“I also kinda see myself as your bro, and you helped me out last night, so I felt closer to you and maybe I asked something that was out of bounds, I acknowledge that.”

You simmer down a bit. “Okay.”

“That’s better.”

You sigh into your milk. He takes that as the resignation it is.

“Alright, good,” he says, satisfied, and you wonder at his ability to be so frank all the time. 

\--

It’s a couple of hours later, and Dave starts making motions to leave. You’re almost sad, but remember that this is a day off anyway and push it down. You were doing the same things you would have been doing, lounging in your boxers and sweater and socks and generally not moving. You’ll probably do the same thing tomorrow, since you basically work a nine to five, five days a week, and don’t have work on the weekends. Today is Saturday.

“I have a gig tonight.” Dave is shoving his feet into his shoes, looking a little wry and regretful, you hope it’s about leaving.

“Which club?” You ask. You never ask. Of course, you also never go out, so there’s no real point in knowing. It’s probably a mainly human club, and there’s enough of a gap between humans and trolls socially that you don’t go to human clubs. Besides, they tend to ask weird questions. Especially at the gay clubs. They like to mention your genitals, the guys at those clubs. Or at least they did at the one mainly-human-gay-bar-with-some-trolls that you went to. You didn’t go back.

Humans are assholes.

Of course, trolls can be assholes too but you’ve never been asked about your “fucking crazy weird alien ham wallet” by another troll. So. 

Trolls don’t subscribe to the whole idea of being homosexual, so their clubs are also a lot less limited and a lot more frequented by the queer and trans community.

Fun stuff.

“Teeth,” Dave replies, and adds, “It’s my usual Saturday gig. I share with another DJ on those nights.”

He’s tying his shoes when the name dings on the familiarity circuit in your brain. 

“That’s the club that Sollux likes. A troll club? I’ve been there before,” you tell him. That night had been… interesting. You had been pretty drunk that night. You and your friends had all been. Very drunk.

“Sollux?”

“Lisp guy with two sets of horns.”

“Ah yeah….”

“You don’t remember him, do you?”

“Nah I do, I just remember how much he hit on me when I met him.”

You laugh. “Sollux is in a polyamorous relationship, happily, but still manages to hit on everything he sees. Fucking shameless.”

“That guy? He managed a relationship? With two different people?”

“Yes, do you not have ears? Christ alive Dave. Don’t you have somewhere to be where you’re not clogging up my extra air with your mindless pandering?”

Dave finished putting on his shoes about five minutes ago, and whips out his phone. His eyes get comically wide and he stands up very awkwardly and practically runs to the door. Dave has a talent for forgetting the hour, funny enough, despite his uncanny ability to guess what time it is at any given moment, and the amount of different watches he owns. 

(“I collect them because it’s fucking cool as shit” “no it’s not Dave”)

You hear the door click shut, and stare at the TV for a minute before getting up and locking the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here is another chapter, in which Gamzee is explained because someone asked about Gamzee :> I'm trying to make Gamzee okay (but not too okay) despite all his shit because I'm trash and Gamz is my problematic fave, but I know how harmful his relationship with Karkat was in canon also he's a literal psychopath. more will be explained on it in future chapters but I'm going off the idea that he was never trapped on the meteor and raised without most of the bad hierarchy ideals of alternian society, and he still has some issues from his past sopor consumption etc etc. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys! And you all have wonderful days. bless
> 
> next chapter is mostly written and will probably be up soon


	6. you've seen him before

You’ve seen him halfway across the room, you remember. His hair was almost moving in slow motion and for a minute you couldn’t see his small (cute) horns. When you did, the sharp teeth definitely made more sense. He looked like the air around him was shimmering. Of course that might have just been all the glitter from the floor.

You were mixing that night, one of your regular clubs, a small troll club, (they seemed to really like your music for some reason or another) a room underground where the lights were dark and mostly black and white... _with_ a few smatterings of the different colors of what you’re pretty sure was an allusion to their blood. You like to think you know at least two licks about all that rainbow racism shit.

Of course, calling it rainbow racism might have totally detracted from any intelligent thoughts you might have had. 

Anyways, you were mixing: something that sounded like the sweetest fucking combination of _Nightvision_ and _HR 8938 Cephei_. It was an EDM night. Sometimes you got requests from your clubs, and this one always wanted your phat beats in the form of mostly voiceless rhythm and ticks of tacks and jumping jacks which, hey, not complaining. Getting paid, here.

You rolled back the tempo into a syrup-slow thump of a heartbeat and some grinding gears, pressing a button for a 3-chord progression that melted into something like molasses dripping out of the walls of the club. The movements of the crowd you were entertaining became more sinuous. The full room almost fell to its knees as you reintroduced the bass in the best way. They seemed to sigh all at once and drop low to each other as you inhaled the humid club air like drinking ice cold water with spearmint gum. At the end of that breath, you looked up just ahead of the stage with your mixing tables and saw a mostly unremarkable little dude. 

He looked somewhere in the range of angry or irritated or just so done with it; hanging halfheartedly off of some fool that wasn’t doing him any services. Some guy with a bunch of pointy horns and needle teeth that looked like he could and would devour him whole and just re-hinge his jaw like nothing was out of the norm. But nubby’s body was reacting to your music, and his eyes flashed over to you in the bare light of one of the strobes and they were red. Not rust. Red. Candy red, gleaming, straight at yours. Well, at your head, at least. Your shades were polarized, he couldn’t possibly see your eyes.  
You’re getting so got dang poetic, it’s a sensitive issue.

Figuring you had been looking at this probably random guy long enough, you moved your arms into the next chord progression. Four sets of two in a repeating pattern that sped the beat back up, to something more recognizable as dance music and not that extended breath. Just for a second you mixed in a few lines of some kind of retro video game line, and ebbed it back out into the same chillness it was before the slow drop.

You let it go on a section for a minute and flexed your hands, took a drink of your water. It was hot up in the booth, and your sweat needed to be wiped off your brow.

When you looked back up, chancing fate you didn’t even believe in, you couldn’t see that troll. A part of you wanted to, but you know from personal experience that it usually isn’t a good idea to meet people at these clubs. Well, at least not the shady one that you played at on Saturday nights. They paid well, though.

\--

Of course, that brings you back to where you are now. Which is killing a few at home after leaving Karkat’s apartment, reminiscing about stupid shit, like how you were so surprised to see the bright red eyes again on the train the day you two officially ‘met’, that you stared like an even ruder idiot than you are for about five hours after he woke up from what was looking like a wicked nightmare. How many trolls have that color of eyes? And stubby little horns that almost disappear in his hair? And live in your area? You’re taking off your shoes now.

Nah, you’re not usually that persistent to keep in contact with people. To be honest, even, you’re a bit of a loner by upbringing and trade. Karkat has way more friends than you, even if he doesn’t like to admit it, and because of him your small friend circle has grown in the past few months.

Your air conditioning turns on with a grinding metal rattle and you jump, biting the inside of your mouth, and hurry to reach for your mp3 dock and flip it on shuffle. It’s marginally more relaxing to have beats in your ears and music to pass through the air while you’re alone sometimes. It makes you feel less like you have to be cautious. 

You text Rez back (oh right, you just broke up) and get in the shower, to wash away the feeling of sleeping in yesterday’s clothes on a sofa before you have to go to work.

Terezi was… an interesting experiment. You guys had thought why not and decided to try being in a relationship that just wasn’t meant to be. You were both kind of lonely to be honest, though Rez wouldn’t admit weakness if there was a bullet heading for her brain and the only way to stop it would be to confess that she was lactose intolerant. That was something you liked about her, she was strong and unflappable.

It’s better with you guys separated, though. You weren’t very good together and make much cooler friends. Besides, whatever she has with Vriska looks promising for her. Even though you fucking hate Vriska. Like, what a fucking asshole.

You’re digressing again. You pick up your phone with a damp hand as you close the shower door. Does the (creepy juggalo) visiting soon mean that Karkat wouldn’t be able to hang out?

 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG]  began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --

TG: hey baby i made it home all safe just for you  
CG: DON’T CARE.  
TG: love you too babe  
CG: STOP DOING THAT.  
TG: all kidding aside i just really wanted to say sorry for asking you about gamzee if that even matters  
TG: my troll etiquette has been getting better but it’s still not a hundred percent  
CG:  
CG: WHO ARE YOU, AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THE ASSHOLE.  
TG: i still have one of those if youre interested in it  
CG: THERE WE GO.  
TG: yknow  
CG: IT’S FINE DAVE.  
TG: an asshole  
CG: ARE YOU QUITE DONE FLAPPING YOUR WASTE CHUTE NOW IN THIS SELF-FELLATING MOMENT OF CLARITY AND DECENCY OR DO I NEED TO GIVE YOU FURTHER AID IN YOUR WRIGGLER QUEST FOR SOLIDARITY AND FORGIVENESS IN THE UNIVERSE.  
TG: nah i think im good  
TG:  
TG: ..  
CG: WHAT.  
TG: when is he coming to visit  
CG: WHY DO YOU NEED TO KNOW??  
TG: because i think i get how meowreels work and i dont want to step on any toes  
CG: KANAYA IS MY MOIRAIL, DAVE. AND SHE DOES NOT SEEM TO MIND ANYTHING YOU DO. SHE WOULD LET YOU KNOW. ALSO I WOULD LET YOU KNOW. YOU ARE NOT PALE FLIRTING WITH ME EVER. IT IS OKAY. TROLLS UNDERSTAND THAT HUMANS DO NOT DO MOIRAILS. PLEASE STOP.  
TG: i also kinda wanna meet your juggalo friend he seems cool  
CG: THAT TERRIBLE IDEA ASIDE, AND REFOCUSING ON YOUR RARE MOMENT OF LACK OF INSIPID INSENSITIVITY, YOU WOULD NOT BE ‘STEPPING ON ANY TOES’  
TG: why is that a terrible idea  
CG: WITH GAMZEE. AND FURTHERMORE, HE IS PROBABLY COMING TO VISIT IN A COUPLE OF WEEKS, OVER THE WEEKEND. I’M GOING TO ASSUME YOU REALLY WANTED TO KNOW BECAUSE YOU SPEND HALF OF YOUR FREE TIME AT MY HOUSE.  
TG: what no  
TG: i just need to avoid your crazy clown friend  
TG: or maybe not avoid him  
TG: he seems like he could be chill  
TG: his cult is pretty friendly i met one of them at albertsons the other day in the dorito section and he offered me a day pass to the love tent  
CG: PLEASE DON’T.  
TG: why i thought you liked my jokes  
CG: JUST DON’T. GO TO WORK.

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG]  ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

 

That last bit makes you snicker like the tool you really are, and you towel off your hair before putting on some of your blue jeans and a white t shirt that you vainly think looks pretty good against your slightly darker skin. Having talked about Kanaya makes you put on that leather jacket she likes so much. She spent a good few stilted and polite sentences talking about how much she liked the gold embroidery on the sleeves. You didn’t want to tell her that your cousin Dirk bought it for you as some kind of a joke.

The irony thing was kind of painful, so Dirk made sure to explain that he just wanted to make you look as much like a nerdy guy trying to be as 'gangster' as possible. Like a true Houstonite. That was funny, you had to admit. Rose had been smiling only a little like she had an evil plan when you put it on, and that was as good as if she legitimately complimented it.

Enough about the jacket.

You put Ben Stiller’s shades back on your nose, and a beanie over half of your hair. Gotta pick one of your tiny curly blonde hairs out of it first. You still don’t know how you ended up with blonde hair. Bro has it too. You think you got it from your dad. Wherever he is.

Shaking your head to get rid of thoughts of the two worst guardians literally ever, you grab your more portable mixing stuff (they have all the tables you need at the club), and your expensive-ass headphones that cost you two weeks of your royalties from SBAHJ. 

Your keys are in your right hand, a sandwich is in your left, and then you’re in the car and you’re driving to work at 6 pm, right on time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aand another gr8 installment of this fanfic! I needed a break from writing karkat so i decided dave would be fun, etc etc. im gonna switch back to dave for the next one but i hope everyone enjoys this and has a wonderful day <3


	7. Motherfuckin' honey-colored other mother brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> night out on (a part of) the town (a very small part)

Why do you keep Dave around? He’s been annoying you since day one and acts like a real fucking asswad all the time. He has little to no tact, and sexual attraction hasn’t been enough to keep you hanging around someone for only that reason before. Well, it has… but you don’t really see the two of you touching bulges anytime in the near future. Or anything else, for that matter. 

Dave just… he just keeps coming back. And you keep letting him in. 

You don’t bother to shake your head to get rid of the thoughts, and you don’t try to push it out of your mind. There’s not much else to do alone in the shower than dwell on why friendships occur like this and other depressing matters… and singing your heart out in the form of a very specific Celine Dion song Sollux may or may not have, at some point, said made you “thound like a dying pieth of a hyena’th breakfatht”. 

And you’re washing your hair, and shampoo tastes bad, so guess who’s thinking of friendship.

Friendship, you guess, can occur with long periods of forced companionship. Like with Sollux and Terezi, and high school. 

You weren’t forced to spend time with Dave, though… actually, he… came to you?

You stop shampooing for a second. What could Dave possibly be wanting to spend long periods of time with you for? At first you had convinced yourself he just wanted a troll friend. Then he made your friends his friends, too. You joked with him that it was his desperate loneliness that kept him around, but he also had his human friends. 

After he kept spending a lot of time with you in particular even after making troll friends, you convinced yourself that he was only there because he loved harassing you and got sick enjoyment out of it. Actually, that’s where you still are. 

How does he derive so much desire to spend time with you from the intent to make your life just that much more difficult at any time? You don’t even know why you have friends sometimes, you’re the worst. 

The worst. 

The water abruptly gets cold, and you scream a little and desperately finish rinsing your hair and horns before practically slamming your hand down on the water handle and shutting it off. Great, too much time lost in thought and now you’re shivering. 

Maybe you spent so long thinking about Dave because you haven’t seen him in a few weeks. He’s been busy so he hasn’t come to bother you. He said he was scheduling more gigs lately, a few birthday parties, writing some music, saving up for the holiday season a bit early because he was “getting some cool shit this year and he had more friends to shop for.” You kinda believe it.

The little nagging voice in your head asks you to stop questioning his motives and the other nagging voice tells you that he just doesn’t want to hang out with you anymore. It’s fine. You definitely don’t miss his stupid ass.

“Hey Karbro ya' gonna get outta there soon? I needa rinse ‘fore we go out tonight.”

Also Gamzee is here. 

“Yeah, yeah, Gamz let me get out of your way.” You wrap a towel around your waist and open the door, moving past the tall troll in the doorway to head to your room to dress.

Gamzee ducks his head to clear his horns from the door, leans back through and grins at you. “All good motherfucker, just wanna look presentable later for my fine distant mother FUCKIN' friends what been ages since I saw last.”

You think he means he wants to make a good impression. 

You wait till he closes the door to drop the towel and hurry your clothes on. Kanaya actually came over earlier while Gamzee was out getting… whatever he was getting. She picked out your outfit. You don’t doubt her skills in clothing you, since she had done it so many times before, but you are a little wary of the jeans she made you put on. They seem a little tight and flashy with all the metal studs.

Oh well, she is the mistress of these things.

You sit yourself down at the table with your late dinner of a microwave burrito just before Gamzee pulls his lanky form around the corner and lurks just behind you. You slide another plate to the seat across from you with a similar burrito and crack open the bag of tortilla chips as he sits down.

“You remembered my favorite, motherfucking… sweet of you bro, sweet sweet sweet,” he says airily, and sinks into the chair. A hand towel is slung across his head and he rubs it over his scalp with on hand while using the other to pick up the burrito.

“We had the same goddamn favorite for a long time,” you easily reply, and take a large bite and then a chip to follow with the bit of crunch the burrito thankfully lacks.

“That we did, bro, would be hard ta’ forget after that time you just went all and mentioned.” 

It’s quiet after that. It’s not really an uncomfortable silence, but a silence you and Gamzee have almost perfected half through his habitual addled stupor and half through your spending so much time together for however long you did.

You sniff lightly, and true to his word he at least smells presentable if entirely like your own soap, because he’s terrible about packing. Speaking of smells, you feel like you should thank the cosmos that he decided to bring edible drugs so that your apartment wouldn’t smell bad after he visited, and you were incredibly and entirely too grateful for this.

The clock ticks firmly on eight and you’re tying your shoes when the door opens and Sollux stands firmly in it, something like three minutes after you had told him you would be leaving your door unlocked for him. 

“Yo, my motherfucking honey-colored other mother brother!”

“Oh, hey GZ.”

You can hear the sound of a high five from the other room, and then Sollux complaining as he’s pulled into some kind of hug probably. You shrug on your hooded blazer and walk out into the main room. 

“Thup, KK. Let’th go, freething my titth off out here.” Sollux has always been weak to cold, and it’s only just under fifty degrees outside, but he’s got a pretty thick scarf on. He even grew up in a colder climate than you for ten years of his life. He’ll probably take the scarf off and leave it in the car.

“If you fucking came inside, that wouldn’t even be a problem,” you snap after stuffing your keys and wallet in your pocket.

“Fuck you, move fathter.”

Eventually you all get to the car after you pull Gamzee out the door and lock up. You squeeze in between Gamz and Terezi, and Sollux and Vriska are in the front seats. 

“So how have all my fine fucking friends been all up in this lord’s bitch-tit miraculous couple of years since us all up and separated last?” Gamzee ventures loudly in the first silent spell he gets, and you tune them all out full-force until you get to wherever Vriska is driving you all. You think Kanaya will be there with her friend Rose. And possibly a couple others? You zone out into something like resigned and angry regret at thinking about how many friends you have, once more going into the thoughts surrounding why you even have them.

Vriska pulls into a spot in a parking garage, proclaims loudly and obnoxiously that she is not going to be the designated driver, with all eight exclamation points audible in her voice. She then tosses the keys to Terezi, who always gets a Shirley temple anyway, unless it’s on her birthday. (With tons of cherries)

Your group somehow forms and finds the sidewalk, and you’re still a bit zoned out, so you’re missing details, until Gamzee punches your shoulder lightly and falls into step next to you. “You gonna be okay here tonight, Karbro?” He asks, and you snap out of the trance you were in, and laugh harshly.

“I’m sure I will be. Kanaya will be there, at least,” you reassure him. Remind him. “Are you going to stay with the group and pay attention to when we leave and all that?” 

It’s his turn to laugh, but his is almost slurred like the rest of his speech. “Yeah bro I will, I’ll keep my eyes peeled or so to motherfuckin’ speak, y’hear. Get my groove on maybe.” He’s gonna be more than drugged out by the end of the night. Somehow. You’ve never figured it out, but he has an uncanny ability to find all nearby drugs and swindle them from people. 

“Hey guyth.” 

Sollux is stopped in front of a bouncer, and the large purple blood looks your group up and down, glances at Gamzee and his face paint and nods at him, and raises the rope to let you in ahead of the line. You didn’t get a look at the name of the club, but the fact that Sollux got in ahead of the line didn’t surprise you. You keep your eyes down as you pass the bouncer.

When you get inside, the place feels familiar… sort of? You squint and tilt your head, and you remember. You ache remembering. You don’t go out very much, and you especially don’t go to crowded places like this one, and you especially don’t go with Sollux, who has dragged you out, to a crowded place like this, with himself, before.

‘Teeth’ flashes in white neon on the wall over the bar next to the menu and you cringe. That was some night. Though… you remember more glitter. 

You all are moving through the crowd, and Gamzee starts to shift away before you pat his shoulder. He looks at you and you tap your wrist and then your pocket. He nods at you and almost disappears into the crowd. He waves at you over his shoulder at the same time he spots someone he’s probably looking for across the room, and makes a familiar beeline through the crowd.

Another ding in your brain, and it’s like a lightbulb has just flashed in your eyes, and it wasn’t just the flash of Feferi’s phone as she runs up behind and puts her arms around both Sollux and yourself and takes a selfie. She’s babbling like a brook and Aradia sidles up next to her and kisses both Feferi and Sollux on the cheek, and then conversation and greetings start happening. You mostly don’t pay attention in favor of glancing around the room.

The music is very good, and sounds pretty familiar. It’s thrumming with bass and some kind of human tribal drum beat, and you look up once your eyes catch the DJ booth. And yeah, just like you were scared of. This is a Saturday night, and Dave works here on Saturday nights. At Teeth. The troll club he talked about.

You can’t believe you nearly forgot, but the last few days with Gamzee staying at your place… it’s been a little thought-consuming. 

The figure in the booth almost looks like he’s twitching from here with the force of the rhythm. He glances up for a moment and freezes, the shades flashing when they catch the light of the club. The music almost discordantly shifts into something cooler, with guitar on top, and long chords of notes. Dave is still looking up, out toward you. Only his arms moving as far as you can see. A cool hand startles you out of your reverie. 

Kanaya is almost glowing (rainbow drinker status non-withstanding) when you look at her, and she pulls you into a jasmine-scented hug that you sigh into. You turn toward the bar and she’s pressing a long island into your hand, with ice, just like you prefer it. 

A familiar head of curly blonde hair slides out next to her, and a hand delicately reaches out to shake yours. “Rose,” she says, almost startling eyes pressing an insistent stare into your own. “I believe we’ve met before.” 

You’re a little disoriented, and reach your hand to pick hers up gently in your own. Who even shook hands anymore?

Well, a lot of people, but that was weird, right?

Kanaya looks surprised. “You have?”

“Yeah,” you croak, still stuck on Rose’s eyes. You feel a little like you’re being dissected. “On the train.”

Kanaya looks pleasantly surprised now, just a small smile and raised eyebrows. “Oh! That was Rose! I had not made the connection. This introduction will be a lot shorter now.”

“Yeah,” you say again.

Rose (so that was her name, then) looks away from you and you feel freed. You take a hearty swig of your drink in the recoil from her eyes, and take a deep breath. Somehow you had not made the connections before. This Rose is Kanaya’s Rose is Dave’s Rose. Got it. 

Kanaya orders Rose a martini, you narrow your eyes when she blushes after Rose thanks her for it. Kanaya looks at you as if sensing your expression, and you raise an eyebrow. 

She shakes her head in a way that lets you know you’ll talk about it later, and you reach out to pap her cheek once with a few fingers. You get something like a snarky look of something like disdain for the pap, and she waves her hand vaguely in your direction. 

Rose looks a little curious, but instead of providing her with more answers, you leave your moirail to her… friend… and look back over to the small ragtag group that’s now ordering a long line of shots of something that Vriska is saying(shouting) “that humans like.” It smells like cinnamon even from where you lean four feet away from the glasses. 

Feferi and Aradia both kiss Sollux on the cheek before taking theirs at the same time he downs two, and everyone else follows suit(except Terezi of course). They even slide one your way, and you stare at it for a moment before some kind of feeling comes over you and, amidst the cheers of your group of friends, you down the burning liquid. You think you probably need it. Hell, you’re twenty-five this year.

You’re not sure what that has to do with anything.

You watch your group of friends kind of dissolve into the crowd, and the warm buzz in your brain makes you want to go join them, but you decide to linger at the bar and finish your drink. 

Half an hour later, you’re eavesdropping on Kanaya and Rose, and the music shifts to something that sounds just as good but a little more prefabricated. The change catches your interest, and you move to the other side of your moirail and her friend, to the other bend in the bar next to the wall. 

It’s just some kind of a coincidence that this spot has a better view of the DJ booth. You’re not curious about what Dave is doing up there, or anything. Hell, you had even forgotten that sorry loser was here, working. It doesn’t matter that there’s a creepy greaser staring you up and down from just near you as if he would eat you up slowly and gladly, this spot at the bar is just better. Despite the greaser. It’s cleaner, or something.

You’re so preoccupied making excuses for why you wouldn’t be looking for your friend that it takes you about five minutes to fully realize that he’s not even up there right now. And you left your spot for this one. And the seadweller you mentioned is starting to look at you funny(er) and edge closer.

Well, now you can’t leave without it looking weird. You desperately ignore the greaser. Your eyes search for Dave with more intent now.

When you don’t find Dave you look up at the guy, he grins this fucking annoying smirk, and you prickle with irritation. He doesn’t apparently see the hatred in your eyes because he begins to speak with some kind of Jersey accent and stutter that’s incredibly out of style here in Texas. 

Kanaya is obviously distracted, and this guy is hitting on you in a very rude way, introducing himself as something that starts with a hard C? Everything is a little less important to focus on right now, you notice suddenly. You’re not drunk by a long shot, but when he says something about your ass, you realize your limits are just blown enough to cut this guy off before he lets himself have a running start and starts moving to different places on your body. His hand moves like it wants to be near some of those places.

“Listen here, you hairy-palmed, lewd guppy of a-“ you start, only to be interrupted by a long arm going around your shoulders. Ready to yell at whoever tried to touch you, you spin with a growl vibrating out from between your teeth and a hiss ready for spitting words at this newcomer.

The owner of the arm chuckles and keeps you facing toward your drink. Vitriol fills you and your growl deepens into a snarl, the seadweller steps back, a small frown on his face at the owner of the restraining arm around you. 

“Yo, man, that’s not very cool of you, we’re busy here,” the seadweller says, and you can hear a territorial rumble in his voice as well before the owner of the arm speaks. You finally recognize the smell of the cologne of your captor, and manage to look over to see Rose looking over at you and laughing into her hand. Puzzled, you manage to push the arm away enough to look up into those goddamned lousy polarized sunglasses. 

The growl cools in your throat and you sigh instead and have to work up the will to push his arm off of your shoulder. “Dave, you insufferable fuckass.”

“That’s me,” he says, and grins stupidly. You squeak when he wipes sweat onto your shirt with his forehead.

There must be some kind of silent exchange that you really don’t care about, because the creepy greaser leaves and Dave takes his place next to you, by the wall. “You’re lucky I’m wasting my break on you to save you from predators.”

“I didn’t need saving, douchewad. Looks like your break was a huge fucking drag in the making.”

“Tell that to greasy McGee over there who looked like he was ready to go to town on you at the very bar itself.”

“I had it handled but thank you for your incredibly potent kindness. I knew I missed seeing you for a reason.”

Dave puts his arm back around your shoulders and jostles you. “You missed me?” You figure it had enough truth in it for him to take it that way.

“More like I was glad to be free of your eating all my fucking food for a couple of weeks.”

Dave waves at the bartender, who brings him something green and fruity-smelling on ice with a greeting and a grin. He’s quiet for a minute and sips.

In the “silence”, you flick him on the small protrusion of his collarbone that you can see from here. “Besides,” you say, “Gamzee’s been in town for a few days, I barely even noticed you weren’t there.”

You can hear the grin in his voice. “Of course, the murderclown.”

Starting, you suck in a breath to yell. “He has NEVER –“

“Well hey Karbro, is this disgusting, shameless motherfucker bothering you? Hey Kan-sis.”

Oh great.

Your hand finds your forehead, and you pinch the bridge of your nose and set your weight into the bar, preparing yourself. Will Gamzee stay chill in front of Dave?

The troll he spoke to waves a little at Gamzee and smiles at him, but appears tensed to intervene if anything should happen. He can be a bit of a wild card, better to be prepared for eventualities.

“I know, bad stereotype, bad name, insane clown posse is the shit, blah blah blah,” Dave neatly covers for himself, while letting his arm drop off of you. Desperately covers for himself. His voice is a little strangled and you would laugh if Gamzee didn’t still think Dave was just being an annoying suitor.

“You bothering my miraculous friend here?” Gamzee is growling, confrontational, towering over Dave in a totally unnecessary way. Still smiling, though, with all his sharp teeth. 

Dave looks mostly unruffled, but his hand is clenched white on the edge of the counter. He’s almost losing his cool, for good reason. 

You decide to move forward and put yourself halfway between the both of them, looking up at your ex-moirail. “We’re just fine, he actually scared off the actual annoying one so it’s all good.” You’re mostly ignored, which you aren’t that surprised about.

“Nah, we’re just talking.” Dave does something after saying that, something either incredibly stupid or incredibly courageous. Probably stupid. He sticks out his hand toward Gamzee, a challenge. “I’m Dave. You must be Karkat’s friend.” A challenge.

_A challenge issued._

Gamzee smiles wider, and stares at the proffered limb for around two tense minutes, then reaches out to take it. He takes one step forward, bringing his body entirely too close. You can see one of his pupils is blown, his breathing is slow but the heartbeat you hear in the thrumming coming from his chest is fast. Acid? Ecstasy? You hear a knuckle in Dave’s hand pop even over the music from the speakers.

_A challenge back._

Oh gog damnit.

You look over to Kanaya with something like a panicked expression. Rose looks uncharacteristically tense. Kanaya is also panicked, and you can tell she doesn’t want to get involved with anything involving Gamzee, even if she seems ready to perform emergency Auspistice to help Dave. This was unexpected and so not where you wanted them to meet. 

Dave makes something like a pained noise for his hand, a surprised grunt at the closeness. “I uh. I have to get back to work soon, man,” he manages, and Gamzee laughs. 

“But this is looking like it’s all up an’ gonna be so much fun. Man.” His neck bends, his words curl around Dave’s throat, he moves forward again and Dave is backed into the bar. They’re almost flush, and it makes you feel nauseous for some reason. Mostly. You’re weak, come on. “Mother…” He steps closer. “… fucker.”

Okay, it’s gone on long enough, you can manage to derail this. You think. Kanaya gives you a thumbs up, and you reach up to catch Gamzee’s jaw in your palm and turn his face. 

He starts, you remain firm, and Dave lets out a huge relieved breath as the taller troll leans back a tiny bit and diverts his attention to you. 

“You were bein’ bothered, Karbro. I saw from over there and had to come over.” He didn’t even realize he was flirting with Dave, or at least didn’t remember. Human Christ alive.

“Yes, Gamzee, but I’m fine and Dave is human. And he has to get back to work soon. And we should go dance, okay?” You’re gently papping his face a little and it feels gross, like you’re cheating, but you don’t want him to get angry here. 

It works, and he steps away from Dave more fully, posturing gone and black proposition out of mind. Dave moves to the other side of Rose, and you can see him out of the corner of your eye heaving in deep breaths and miming something at a Rose who now looks like she’s trying hard not to burst out laughing.

Gamzee growls at him shortly as he passes and Dave jumps. You snort, and Gamzee looks pleased at that. There’s a lot of glitter in his crazy hair, somehow, and you dust a bit of it off while your hands are up there. “Go find Feferi on the dance floor and I’ll meet you there in a minute. You like Feferi, right?”

“Right on,” Gamzee replies, and slowly makes his way around the bar and toward the throng of people he came through to get to you. 

A sigh escapes you, and you feel suddenly weirdly nauseous and giddy. Your drink is gone by now, so you leave the glass on the bar and go to Dave, who is practically cowering on the other side of Rose, hiding and keeping an eye out. 

“What the fuck just happened?” Dave looks like he knows the answer, but wants to play dumb.

“What a fucking weenie,” you begin once you’re within earshot, and Dave looks at you with wide eyes and opens his mouth to protest. “Oh no! I’m not done!”

“Now, no one could have predicted him reacting that way to a handshake, at least not to that degree, but are you a fucking moron?! Challenging a highblood like that! When he’s obviously on some kind of cocktail of unknown substances! Do you have a death wish?! I thought humans didn’t do blackrom but apparently I was fucking wrong here, and you needed to proposition an unstable cult member like some kind of village loon out on a stupidity spree!” 

Dave tries to protest again and you whap him over the head with your hand. “At least you didn’t try to act dominant and egg him on! For the love of the Condesce you’re a total idiot! Your thinkpan must be the size of an ant, and that’s being generous!”

Rose is chuckling into her hand out loud by now, and Dave glares at her from where he’s now standing up straight and rubbing a few fingers across his forehead. Kanaya has un-tensed, and chuckles as well. It’s contagious, it seems, because Dave cracks something like a grin and a few giggles that he tries to cover. 

You’re trying to give a fuckdamned lecture here! 

“Hey! I’m trying to lecture you here! Way to make a good impression on one of my closest friends you sad excuse for a fucking meatsack that’s been left to rot in the Alternian sun for several hours!”

Dave sobers a bit at that, and sets a hand on your shoulder after glancing around, checking for Gamzee. “I’ll do better next time,” he says. “When the clown isn’t on what looks like two different strains of white lightning.”

“You fucking better,” you say, glaring. Somehow he had managed to take his drink to this side of the counter. He was probably holding it out of fear of moving unless it was to get away from Gamzee. The thought makes you almost snort, but you’re busy being the fucking boss of Dave, stupid miserable ass. You grab it just to spite him, down the small amount that was left to refuel your buzz, and turn to go look for your ex-moirail. “Now go back to doing actual work.”

“Yes sir,” you hear him say as you walk away, and you catch a glance of him a few minutes later, back up on that podium with his huge headphones on. 

After you dance with Gamzee and your friends for the rest of the night until the crowd dwindles, you hug a very drunk Kanaya goodbye. You give her plenty of paps to make up for earlier and promise her you’ll get her breakfast in the afternoon. 

She leaves with a slightly more sober Rose in a cab, and you’re in the backseat next to Gamzee. Terezi is driving, Vriska is in the front seat, and Sollux went home with his girls. You and Gamzee are dropped off, and you both collapse on different sides of your bed. 

\--

Before Gamzee leaves the next day, he asks for Dave’s handle, and you actually believe him when he says he just wants to “know all your motherfuckin’ friends, Karbro, you know, incase ya ain’t answerin’ me ‘r somethin’.” 

You laugh obnoxiously when you give it to him, knowing that it’ll scare the shit out of Dave to get messages from a “murderclown” the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the long wait I guess, I've been busy and had a real big art block the past few weeks, and then I got sick for a few days and sitting up long enough to edit just didn't sound very good. So! This chapter somehow turned out kinda long for me, and all that shit, and I hope everyone likes it. I may go back and tweak some things since I do all my editing myself and it usually takes a few run throughs on different days to get my desired results
> 
> Now, regardless of whether people are okay with Gam/Dave, I'm not actually writing that to any kind of completion or even beyond this chapter, probably. I don't see Dave as doing multiple quadrants at once even if he WAS interested in pursuing a relationship with Gamzee in this AU. I just really like it when I see snippets of it in fanfic, it's very entertaining, I'm writing so I make the rules, etc. :P 
> 
> I ws gonna say something else but I forgot, lmao. I'm sure I'll remember later and wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night


	8. Whatever.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thanksgiving!

Mmmmmm. It’s warm. The pillow your face is smashed up against smells great, and feels fantastic when you rub your cheek on it. Cloth texture rubs smoothly against your skin, catches on a fang, dislodges itself. You feel very pleasantly full and a little bit like you need to pee but you smother that one niggling sensation in favor of hugging your pillow a bit tighter to your chest.

There’s a TV on in the background, you can hear. Just barely there. Some kind of announcer voice, maybe the news. That’s a bit odd, maybe you fell asleep at Kankri’s house? On his couch? That would be weird but you guess it’d make sense, especially since it’s Thanksgiving and Kankri loves watching the parade.

Yeah, Kankri loves watching the Thanksgiving Macy’s parade. Don’t really know why because he really likes to complain about it, and the capitalism, and the apparently flagrant sexism, and the capitalism and the capitalism and the capitalism. Except that one time you fell back asleep on the sofa and woke up to him humming along with some Christmas song or another, inane repetitive tune whistling through all his fangs while he chewed his pancakes. That was a few years ago.

Your sweater is oddly warm and soft on the inside. 

Whatever.

Your pillow moves.

That’s kind of weird too, you have to admit, but you’re still floating somewhere around the exit to Dreamland, right around the Who-Gives-a-Fuck cul-de-sac and just beyond Dream Junction Avenue. The pillow has to be wrestled into submission, you tighten your arms around it as much as you can when your fingers can’t quite grip things yet.

The pillow makes a little noise, moves once more and then settles down. Satisfied, you turn your head away from the sound of the television, and ferociously cuddle your pillow back down Dream Junction Avenue, skipping the pit stop for Consciousness Corner.

\--

Oh my god oh my god.

Asdhfskdlhglkhlh;da’dhg;h

Land sakes Karkat is cute when he’s sleeping. 

He frowns even in his sleep. Not all the time, and a second after you think that he furrows his brow and seems to dig in his heels and refuse the land of the waking. 

Did he just call you Kankri?

What the fuck, you woke up to this. This little monster unwinding his arms from being crossed under his forehead. And sliding those little crabby clawed monster hands. Between your chest and your arms. Around you on the couch.

Holy shit should you be concerned about his hands? 

They’re gonna fall asleep like that, between you and the cushions on the couch.

Rose’s couch. 

Oh shit fuck

Ow

\--

You’re jolted from your sleep by the sudden realization that both your father and Kankri are doing meals for homeless people this year. And it’s not the fucking parade on.

When a familiar voice hoots and hollers at something that happens on the TV, you shoot up where you lay.

Your pillow yelps as your knee and claws finds some soft territory, and a hiss rises in your throat as your wrist twists uncomfortably when you yank it from between two cushions. 

It’s not too bad, you find when you sit back on your heels, sway at the sudden shift in altitude, and shake it out.

“Roxy, jegus fucking shitchrist could you be any more of a complete annoyance in everyone’s lives!”

The girl in question is smiling gleefully when you glare at her. Devil woman woke you up. On purpose! Why is she here again? You glance over at a soft hum from Kanaya, who is sitting on the floor, also looking at you but still somehow facing the screen. She has one eyebrow raised.

Something moves underneath you.

So of course your eyes are drawn back to the direction the rest of your body is facing and of course you freeze about at smoothly as a gently shattering iceberg on the hull of your dignity.

Oh yeah. It’s Thanksgiving, and you’re at Rose’s. You all ate your big meal at four and the football game is on. 

“It’s five and twelve minutes, when are we doing pie?”

“Dave, how do you always know what time it is?” Roxy is distracted from the game now, because of commercial breaks, and looking at you, probably.

Oh.

“Well right now, it’s because of the very conspicuous clock on the mantle.”

“Don’t lie, that thing’s been dead for weeks.”

Dave shrugs and pulls his legs fully out from under you, rubbing his eyes.

Rose pipes up from where she’s now standing in the doorway.

“Dessert will be served when mother gets back from the store with the ice cream. She has just left.”

“Aight.”

Well. So it turns out that wasn’t a pillow after all.

You can feel your face heating up more gradually as realization fills you and you start thinking about what everyone else must have thought. Your shoulders feel so tense, you can still smell Dave’s cologne from his shirt, heady in your nose. You’re a little stiff and suddenly at a point where you don’t know what to do.

The fuck is this? A rom com? A bad fanfiction? 

“Nah, it’s Rose’s living room.”

Your face is on fire. You said that out loud.

“I’m so sorry I fell asleep on you, oh my god Dave.”

“It’s okay. I know you can’t help my sheer animal magnetism.”

“Dave, please don’t.”

“You’re cute when you sleep anyway.”

“Dave…”

“If you wanna see I’m sure Rose got some pictures for blackmail somehow, you’re like a fucking wolverine, I couldn’t get your claws outta me once you got comfortable like shit man I knew I was irresistible but have some self-control.”

Well, it was bearable while it lasted.

“I guess we fell asleep after eating all that food and you couldn’t stay away from my hot bod.”

“Yeah I’m sure, Strider.” It’s easy to back away and stand up at that point in order to abscond with grace, your embarrassment quickly being erased by the sort of comfortable irritation that comes with his banter.

“Bitches are so desperate and I guess even my bros are no different not that I mind because hey Vant-ass your rear may be heavy but it’s only cause of all the junk in that trunk.” Obviously he took the opportunity of you walking away to make this absolutely integral comment.

“Oh, can it or shove yourself into a fucking garbage disposal face-first.”

“You’re yourself again Kitkat!”

 

The bathroom door doesn’t slam, because Rose would probably do some very dark things to you for slamming her doors. The door does close quite definitely, though. 

Now that you have a second to look in a mirror, you remember (with a lovely visual aid) that you’re wearing Dave’s sweater. You don’t remember laying down (you swear you were sitting up on the opposite end of the sofa last you knew), but you do remember why you’re wearing his sweater. 

Tripping into bowl of cold punch and having it soak your clothes makes you want to change, real fast. So now you were wearing basketball shorts, ankle socks, and a hoodie that were all obviously Dave’s, if only because everything but the shorts was red. He didn’t even own that much red, it’s just that most of the stuff he had with him (because he packed an overnight bag for some reason) was from his “red phase.” 

God he’s so stupid.

Thanksgiving is a little on the warm side this year at around 65 degrees, but the air conditioning in Rose's apartment is keeping it fairly chilly in the spirit of the season. You're grateful. 

You’re just glad the punch bowl spilled in the kitchen, and Rose’s mom didn’t even make you clean it up. 

It was because she was laughing too hard at the time. Almost snorted her wine out of her nose.

Anyway, Roxy (Dave’s cousin) and her mom, and their other cousin, Dirk, are visiting. All of these Strider-Lalondes call this woman Mom so you don’t even know her name. 

Even you started calling her Mom as a result, because the only person who can apparently get away with calling her Mrs. Lalonde is “oh Kanaya sweetie, you’re so precious.”

Those three are visiting because neither Rose nor Dave could get off work with enough time to make the trip. You and Kanaya were invited to join their meal because her only nearby relative is working, and both of yours are doing things as well. 

The two of you were going to hang out together anyway with maybe a couple of other trolls (because yeah trolls do the big meal thing on thanksgiving, it’s an American thing not a human one) but 

“Hey Krabbypatty, I gotta pee, shit or get off the pot!”

“Fuck you Dave!” you merrily reply, and rinse your hands before drying them on the clearly decorative towel. You make sure to open the door very fast in hopes of catching Dave in the chin, but he expertly dodges your assault and slips right through, past you (he smells so good) and closes the door in your face.

He smells so—

Oh bother.

So. Since the night at the club.

Things have been entirely normal. Why would they change at all? This is the fucking blandest story ever, the story of your life.

This isn’t the first time you’ve woken up on Dave, and to be perfectly honest it was revolting? Who would want to be surrounded by good smells and so much warmth when they wake up? You’d never woken up in his _arms_ before, but it’s not that big of a deal.

You’re never going to mention it again. 

The red hoodie catches on a door knob when you go into the kitchen and you receive the worst possible whiplash, your feet thankfully finding the floor before your ass this time. A glass of ice water is pressed into your hands by Rose, who passes you on the way to the other room, and you take it and go to sit at a stool at the kitchen counter. The pie smells really good from here.

You take this opportunity to think about your dad. 

You two still haven’t entirely made up, it’s at the same stand still from months ago.

You take this moment to absolutely not think about your dad.

Dirk is suddenly standing in front of you with a large metal spoon in hand, and you jump. The light catches menacingly off of it, and then his sharp-ass fucking sunglasses by proxy.

“If you’re going to sit on your ass in the kitchen hiding from my little cousin you might as well separate the leftover mashed potatoes into bags for you kids.”

There are a lot of leftover mashed potatoes.

“Fuck no.” You respond in kind, pretend to look blasé.

Light glints off the spoon again, like a knife.

“How much do you want?” You ask, and take the spoon.

If he could even hope to smile, you feel like it would break glass.

“I’m good, just divide it evenly for Dave, Kanaya, Rose and yourself. Dave always gets the most.”

Twenty minutes later you’re struggling with closing a gallon bag of mashed, slightly-warm white stuffs, and Dave comes in. Honestly the bag isn’t that full, but the zipper doesn’t want to work with you. 

“Ah yeah, those must be mine. Fuck yeah.”

“This is a fucking delicate process, douchewaffle, and I would appreciate absolute science to execute it properly.”

“You’re winning the Olympics of storing the last of the potatoes, Karkat. Gracefully crossing the finish line leagues ahead of the competitors.”

You manage to get it closed and write DAVE on the top in the kind of weird sparkly pink my little pony gel pen Dirk had handed to you out of his apron pocket. 

The apron had an American flag-patterned bikini printed on it, with ample cleavage.

“Your family is so fucking weird, Dave.”

“Tell me about it.”

You open your mouth with some kind of fuming grimace to do just that, and he pushes his hand against your mouth. “It’s just a saying.”

…

Of course you don’t lick his hand. Gross. Where have his hands even been?

Don’t answer that.

You just pinch the back of his middle finger until he lets go with a hiss.

Dirk walks back into the room, looks at the bags of potatoes on the counter and your free hands, and says, “You can feel free to do the same with the turkey and gravy anytime.”

His voice says joke but the big spoon (how the fuck did that get back in his hand?) says business. 

“You too, Dave. Help your friend.”

“You’re not my real mom, Dirk.”

The spoon must make a reappearance because Dave goes to wash his hands in the sink next to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will be in two parts so that I can have a chapter out now but also still be posting thanksgiving stuff on thanksgiving next week! Um yeah so finally starting on more romcom stuff now lmao (im a fucking sucker for cheesy tropes so get ready for more in the future too). starting to plan chapters more so hopefully they seem a bit more collected!


	9. Thanksgiving 2: 2 Thanks 2 Giving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part two of thanksgiving!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes are at the beginning this time! (there are also notes at the end lmao)
> 
> So this is the second part of thanksgiving at the Rose Lalonde house! Also! I wrote a little snippet of background Rosemary as a celebration for getting to 100 kudos an a thank you for you guys! The link is in the fic description now, please go read if you want! there's also a bit of karkat and kanaya in there, some cuddle piles, and some cute gay-o-rific flirting! It will also provide some context for the next chapter I'm putting out :)
> 
> Anyway I love you all and I hope you love this chapter!
> 
> Happy thanksgiving y'all :)

Dave didn’t take that long to finish washing his hands and then he was two feet to your right, carefully cutting pieces of turkey into portions of light and dark meat and sorting them. 

“Why the fuck are you wearing rubber gloves?”

“Piss off man, turkey is greasy.” Dave looks offended, but he has a point with the gloves. The skin is the greasiest part, too, and that’s what he’s touching right now.

“It’s incredibly stupid and lame but okay.”

“I think what you should say here is, ‘you do you, Dave, you impeccable male specimen’ and then leave me alone to portion out this fine fowl.”

“I’m not doing that. Especially with the gesture when you said ‘specimen’.”

“Oh no, however will I deal with the unbearable lack of empathy from the other side of the kitchen. I’m dyin’ here Karkat. Dyin’. Dyin’, like a teenage kid in the nineties dyeing t-shirts for their youth ministry mission trip to save some peeps in Puerto Rico.”

Mentioning your home country kind of grates on you for no reason, and you kind of hope he won’t extrapolate, but he does. “Walking around in the mud playing like they’re eating bugs in the wilderness and not doing much to actually help the surroundings cause even tho it’s Puerto Rico it’s not like the fucking wild. I mean the country is already essentially ruined by the tourism industry so it’s not like they couldn’t use help I guess.”

You sigh and something flies out of your mouth, clunky and awkward and unnecessary. “¡Cierra la boca!” 

Dave laughs at the near-profanity. “Damn, Kark, talking to your brother earlier or something?”

“In fact, yes, Dave. Bag the turkey and shut your mouth.”

He pulls over a quart sized freezer bag and cracks it open. “About Puerto Rico or about mission trips?”

“It’s a sensitive topic for me so I’m gonna bitch about it. Deal with it,” you leave off, and prepare yourself for some kind of snark war. As it usually goes.

“I can stop.”

Huh?

You’re a little surprised. Dave, making an effort. No less, an effort to be less intolerable. Or maybe it’s a simple lack of effort to be intolerable? You feel special for a minute even though nothing of real note actually happened.

And he doesn’t ruin it this time. It’s easy to feel Dirk’s eyes are on you and you turn to furrow an eyebrow at him.

“Trying to mind your own business for once?”

“There somethin’ to mind?” He grins from where he’s taking the large pie out of the oven. Sort of. His face doesn’t show any expression, but something in the angle of his chin says something about something. Something. You’re probably pulling this bullshit out of your ass.

Dave speaking brings your attention back to him. 

“So what exactly are your dad and bro doing today?”

You sigh, and feel like you explained this at least three times this afternoon before food, but Dave must have forgotten since he didn’t ask you himself. He probably wasn’t even paying attention when you were speaking to people that weren’t him.

“They’re feeding the homeless of the area at the church where my father works, and helping host a mass. I think Kankri is doing the mass. Less free room to offend people while he aggressively tries to not marginalize them.”

Dave apparently takes a second to let that sink in. You see his hand tense and the marker he’s now using to write names on bags skids a little. It squeaks. “Oh cool. They doing that for Christmas too?” (You would be alone.)

“I don’t think so, but I’ll have to check.”

“Well if they did, you’re welcome to come spend Christmas with me at Mom’s. Wouldn’t want you to be planning to be by yourself again, that’d be sad as fuck.” (I’d feel sorry for you) (you’re definitely adding Dave translation subtitles in your head)

You’re surprised yet again, and your heart skips and rushes somehow at the same time. You stop labeling tape on the plastic containers Dirk gave you for the gravy, and look up at him. For a fraction of a second probably you think you can see his eyes, wide behind his shield of shades with eyebrows furrowed.

“Holidays are depressing alone yo.” (And you’d be alone)

“They are,” says you. The marker in your hand is starting to smell a little because you’re holding it still. But you’re still staring at Dave. His own hands are kind of immobilized on what he’s doing, though he’s still writing.

“I mean, you’re a troll so maybe trolls don’t do Christmas. But your dad and brother are Christian, so I guess they would.” (I hope you’ll take me up on it)

Does Dave know what he’s just said? It sounded suspiciously like an admission of… pity? Which is kind of an extremely basic and kind of archaic form of talking about red…. Feelings? But… he does know about quadrants, right? He was with Terezi for a while. And he did just basically tell you that your situation with your family sucked. But it’s not possible, not for you. You’re reading too much into this. 

“Christmas is something that at least American trolls tend to celebrate. Most Christian-based countries do, and you also have the fucking outliers like the cult of the Signless, who relate way too much to Jesus and all that, a lot of whom converted early on. (your father) The tyrians tend to get as much publicity they can out of it while celebrating, all that good stuff. We had something like the holiday on Alternia, or so they teach us when we’re wrigglers.”

Sort of realizing you’re carrying on too much and would eventually end up sinking through five different connected topics like you’re the walking troll Wikipedia and you just want to click one more link to take you down the path of no return, at the end of which is closely examining troll reproduction without the mother grub that existed on Alternia, you cut yourself off. It’s a slippery, and honestly, messy and bloody slope.

“I’ll think… about it,” you add, and look back at the gravy containers to finish labeling. Your face feels quite warm for the second time today.

Dirk coughs like he’s about to excuse himself, (Does Dirk know anything about what Dave just said??? Or is he just being a fuckwad?) but doesn’t get far, because Mom Lalonde comes back in with a flourish of cool air coming off her jacket, drops her keys on the counter, and proudly slams down a half-gallon container of vanilla ice cream. 

“Lord bless Blue Bell being back in production!” She almost sings, and looks around the room. “Had to drive to two different stores for a container, though! Well? Where’s my pie?”

Dirk pulls out the pie knife, and gets cutting on slices for everyone. You’re glad for the distraction.

Dave walks a little bit inside your bubble as you pass each other at the ice cream. You can feel his warmth. That’s probably just the sweater, right?

Eventually everyone has dessert, and you and Dave are sitting on the floor at opposite ends of the coffee table, eating. Dave is nearly over the moon about the apples. It’s a little stupid.

Kanaya is sitting a little close to Rose, and it makes you wonder. Of course, Dirk and Roxy are also sitting on the sofa. But… Kanaya seems to be… closer than she necessarily needs to be? No, her long body is curving toward the shorter human. Rose doesn’t seem to be reacting negatively; it could be taken, even, that she’s turning herself toward your moirail and reciprocating the… closeness?

Kanaya would have told you if she had feelings for someone here, right? And this would be essentially going back on what she had told you about the other person she liked right now.

However, since you’re definitely not one to put too much stock into multiple crushes at once, you won’t begrudge her this moment. You’ll make sure to kindly interrogate her later. If she wants to talk about it.

A honking noise that resonates from Dave’s pocket distracts you from this (for now). 

He nearly screeches and jumps ten feet in the air. He takes out his phone with trepidation. You’ve never been happier to reset a ringtone on his phone. 

Dave unlocks his screen and proceeds to nearly throw his phone toward the other side of the room in his haste to have it away from himself.

You catch it in your hand as it slides across the table and turn it towards you. And cackle.

The display shows:

\-- terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] –-

TC: HeY ThErE MoThErFuCkeR AlL Up aNd hApPy tHaNkSgIvInG  
TC: YoU BeTtEr bE fEeDiNg kArBrO AlL GoOd fOoD N’ sHiT :o)  
TC: Or eLsE :o)

You start laughing at the mild threat on the phone, then you look over and Dave’s face makes you laugh even more.  
After about four minutes of you laughing, Gamzee sends Dave another message.

TC: … I’lL HaVe tO  
TC: AlL Up aNd hIlaRiOuS SiCkNaStY RiNgToNe rIgHt  
TC: LaTeR MoThErFuCkEr :o) hOnK

\-- terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased trollingturntechGodhead [TG] –-

 

You look at your own phone after sliding Dave’s back to him (he looks at the pesterlog but chooses not to answer for now, instead opting to calmly place his phone close enough to grab but far enough to not look at), and you have the same first message, without the “motherfucker.” You reply in kind. 

This was a great holiday, even if it was mostly human and mostly american.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (as promised more notes)
> 
> so! Dave and Karkat are starting to get a little more of a clue. Next chapter is Dave's birthday and also, coincidentally, his POV. yeehaw! It's already mostly written so there's that!
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful day and a happy thanksgiving (again)! 
> 
> <3


	10. That something (the night is still young and so are we)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Dave's birthday and he's feeling a little differently than he thought he was

Scenery rushed by outside the train, and lights rushed over the closed eyelids of the little growly dude you’d attempted to weakly get the attention of in a fit of boredom. That had been earlier in the train ride. Mixing long forgotten when you’d noticed him sleeping, you now instead scratched a record or two on your right knee. Your big toes tapped the beat of the light flashing through the trees across his nose, double time, inside your shoes.

A few distressed noises came from the guy now and then. You recognized a piece of yourself in him. A piece of yourself buried away until you pass out, that remembers harsher things than the swords in your kitchen and, of all things, the stupid puppet. The ache in your stomach. The hiding marks at school.

This guy was obviously having nightmares, judging by the wrinkle in his nose and brow. 

When he’d sat down earlier, near you but not too close, yet not too far away that he didn’t have the presence of another person to ease his absent mind, he had cracked open a book. You had tried not to watch him with any amount of interest, knowing your tendency to be a little nosy. But he was the guy from your train car, right? That troll. 

He really wasn’t beautiful or startlingly attractive, god no. Especially not in sleep, all tense(you would later find this cute) and scratching his own hand with his claws, making the spine of the book he was holding creak. There wasn’t a spark that flashed between the two of you even before he’d fallen asleep, or music in the background that wasn’t this great playlist you’d found on 8tracks.

When he opened his eyes, though… there _was_ a rush of something. _Something_. Now, the _rush_ was not connected to the whiplash of recognition, and you were obviously surprised to see this guy again.

Well, you were pretty sure it was the same troll. You’ve met and seen quite a few by now, and none of _them_ had red eyes. Like yours. Just like yours.

You passed the _feeling_ off at the time as guilt from watching him, examining that part of his soul he didn’t know about right now, the part that reached out to its surroundings for level ground in nightmares even though it would find none. That part of his soul that you pushed air under for a second, lifted like a feather but didn’t bother holding or comforting.

He had been much more beautiful – well not beautiful, more like ethereal – in the club, and you attributed part of that to the glitter in the air, part of that to the scorching hot anger in his eyes, and part to the music that made you feel raw and bare when you mixed it. You can’t be held responsible for all of the things you do when you’re making tunes, especially finding inexplicable connection and wanting to find someone in a crowd. 

Your boss had tried to rip you out for that off note when you’d seen him but ended up complimenting you instead because of how many people had liked it. “You’re fucking lucky, strider.”

You were lucky.

It was the perfect excuse for yourself, for staring at him in the train.

He spoke to you like acid and metal on his tongue, you spoke back. The two of you had a fairly easy rapport, he smiled like a shark.

You asked him if he was hungry.

You left your chumhandle on a napkin.

\--

Now, though, you’re on the roof of your apartment building. There’s a party inside your place, and you need some air. The roof is a mixed bag for you at the best of times, but today it doesn’t hurt in your throat to sit on the edge, because Karkat came out to the roof with you. 

Going back to work the weekend after the holiday burned like lemon juice; you’ve been working a lot of nights since then, and you’re a little exhausted. It’s Thursday again. You managed to get tonight off, and somehow your friends managed to throw a decently-sized party. You think it was Roxy’s idea. You also think she bribed all your neighbors for silence and no calling the police.

Karkat opens his burning eyes in your direction and you get that rush of _something_ again. But the rush has a different flavor now. That sense of recognition, of familiarity, of adrenaline and maybe a little oxytocin. 

You debate it as you look down at your feet next to his, hanging off the edge. There’s a rail on this roof, and you lean your arms on it, rest your chin on your elbow, and look at Karkat. His face seems almost bright against the grey backdrop of clouds, even as his rat’s nest hair blurs the edges when it flutters in the wind. 

You’ve both had drinks. In fact, he’s holding a rum and coke in one of his hands, and drinking the rest of it a little too fast. In the far distance, lightning cracks through the sky and he’s thrown into temporary relief. His hand falls to the roof edge between you and you’re consumed with the urge to reach out and take it, just to be closer. You clench your sleeves instead.

Your phone lights up with a text from Rose and you push it into your pocket after seeing that it says eight pm. 

“It’s interesting,” Karkat begins, pausing strangely and sighing when lightning in the distance (a little closer this time) cracks again. “When there’s lightning, it’s interesting, but the rain hasn’t started yet? I can feel a little of the thunder in my horns if I just focus a little bit.”

You’re interested. You make what you hope is an interested noise, even though he’s already continuing. 

“The electricity of the atmosphere. Resonating and cracking, like when you step on thin ice on concrete.”

You could talk now, but you choose to wait. He frowns when he raises his drink to his lips and finds nothing in the cup. The world swings behind him a little, or maybe you’re swaying, not that it matters. Because he’s smiling now, the same jagged, sharp smile from the train except entirely less inhibited due to the alcohol. 

It makes you smile into your elbow, too. 

Gog, what was in that drink. Whatever it was, you pick it up, drag the rest of it down, and wave your hand to signal him to continue. You’re a quiet drunk, which is fine, because Karkat is almost never quiet unless he’s asleep or there’s a movie on the television. 

“Sollux hates it more than he hates store-brand honey. He says it’s like he’s trying to use his weak-ass psionics, but it’s not actually doing anything. Most trolls with larger horns choose not to go outside at times like this if they can.”

His eyes close for a minute, and you can tell he’s thinking of Gamzee cause the look is the strangest mix of relaxed, angry, sad, and fond. And yeah, that fucker has the pointiest horns you’ve ever seen. Longest vertical horns you’ve ever seen. Ridiculously they remind you of really chill drill bits with their shape.

Alcohol makes you feel so nice at its peak. Crushing your face into the soft sleeve, everything feels like slow motion, your blinks are slower and slowing even more. Breathing feels like it takes more effort and less simultaneously and you could breathe in the world, right now.

“At least, I know they do here, where the electricity can get so high in the air. I like it, though. I dunno, it… feels really cool. Really good. Prob’ly cause my horns are so nubby an’ shit.”

You talk for the first time in a while, maybe since coming up to the roof?

“That’s so cool man.” Nailed it.

“Fuck yeah it is.”

The self-satisfied expression crossing Karkat’s lips as he leans just barely closer to you is like cocaine. You abruptly want to see more of it. 

God, this is all so boring, but you couldn’t have a better story to tell.

You remember how warm his body was on thanksgiving and you want him to pass out on you again. It’s a complete accident and also the best ever when your hand slides over to cross his pinky and ring fingers with your own, and he doesn’t move away. You’re fucking wasted on the booze and the warm spot of his fingers.

A raindrop hits your nose, and one hits the inside of your cup and makes a solid noise. 

Lightning and thunder crash closer, and Karkat hums you think, tilting his head and flexing his eyebrows. Like he’s getting a feel for the ozone flickering in his nose and the miniscule sparks he’s imagining are probably dripping off his horns.

More raindrops fall, you figure it isn’t a fluke this time, and you get up and away from the roof edge. Karkat looks reluctant, but you assume the want to be warm and dry outweighs the want to stay on the roof, and he follows. 

You both make it under the overhang halfway between where you were and the roof exit before it begins pouring. The roof door is still about thirty feet away, and neither of you want to get soaked right now. There’s a silent agreement to not move yet, and you get a little closer to Karkat for his heat. 

He’s gazing out at the rain falling, and mumbles something or another about the rain letting up in a bit. You have to drag your beanie lower over your ears when the wind blows more cold air into the alcove, and Karkat does the same and moves in closer to you as well. 

He’s not watching the rain anymore, and you haven’t ever been. Both of your mouths smell like the pancakes scent of Dr Pepper and Captain Morgan, and both of your breaths are coming out as vapor again in the smaller space. 

It’s like that for awhile. The sound of the rain provides a pleasant background beat to the curtains of night coming down more fully. Lightning flashes again and you want to see if you can feel the same thing if you just touch his horns. 

That would be rude, though. So you don’t.

You’ve been trying to be less rude to him.

You’re very close to him, though, now with little knowledge of how you got here. It’s warm between the two of you now and you’re curling your back and neck in even further to get closer, you guess. 

Your eyes are almost level now and you’re leaning in more, turning your head. 

“Happy Birthday, Dave,” Karkat murmurs softly, eyes glazed, and you’re frozen.

His black hair is not quite dripping wet and his face all lazy frowns and sharp teeth and you were wrong. He’s so beautiful. Here in the dark night with the rain and the streetlight behind him just kind of making a halo behind his head.

You nod your thanks, and decide to brave the rain. Anything would be better and it doesn’t look as if it’s letting up.

Cold _and_ soaked, you and Karkat make your way down the stairs. You think maybe you’re both definitely a little more sobered now.

You find Kanaya following Rose into a wall in the stairwell one floor up from yours, mouths connected. The troll has the decency to look embarrassed and flush jade when you begin to applaud loudly. Karkat gives her a thumbs up and smacks you clumsily on the back of the head for ‘being such an insufferable jackass’, but sees Rose’s eyes before you do, and almost leaps away down the remaining two flights. 

The look is aimed at you, and you don’t even have to fully see it to feel the chill.

It’s funny, they’re the only two completely sober people at this party.

What’s the chance that a couple would just start making out at a party and get together?

The odds of that.

Karkat disappears once you’re both back inside, and after not seeing him for about an hour of dancing and talking to people and two more drinks, you want to ask him more about his horn tingling. You can’t ask Kanaya about it, so you just question the nearest person. This person happens to be one of your DJ friends who is currently taking a break from the infinite party music he and his cousin make.

“You seen a small growly troll pass through here, yea high, nubby horns?” You ask Tavros.

He shakes his massive rack and glances up at his cousin, who’s rolling out some of the grungiest, bassiest goth shit you’ve heard in a while right now. Rufioh also shakes his head, though with smaller movements so as to not knock himself off beat with the balance shift. 

For a bit it seems like a good idea to ask them about the horns thing. But you only want to hear it from Karkat, right? And horns and biology stuff are awkward to talk about, anyway. You pat Tavros on the shoulder and nudge him back towards the table. 

“Alright, thanks dude. And thanks again for freeing yourself up for the party,” you somehow coherently manage. 

“Nah, dude, don’t worry, about it,” he starts back, over the noise of the party. His soft voice can be hard to hear even when he’s yelling, so you lean in. “Me n’ Rufioh, we, uh, we, owe you for that one time at _Teeth_. You uh, covered for us and, played a, great, and fucking, baller set, on short notice.”

His stammering thing is getting better, you guess. You pat his shoulder again. He laughs. “Go, enjoy your party, Strider.”

You give him a thumbs up and walk away with a grin, somehow not weaving. Personal record for coolness.

“Where are you stumbling to, Strider?” A familiar snarl greets you and a hand grabs you into a small clear spot on the wall. “I leave you for ten seconds to make a phone call and you disappear into that throng of people.” 

You’re elated to see Karkat, but he’s too sober right now. “They love me, Krabsicle. They all came to see me today and damn do I feel special. Bitches pourin’ out the drains lookin’ for this bod.”

Karkat apparently also thinks he is too sober, (maybe to deal with you right now) and makes a move toward the kitchen to grab another drink. You know the party will go on for at least three more hours. At least. You also know he won’t mind sleeping on your couch. Possibly with you.

It’s great, it’s all great. Karkat is great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I wanted to post a lil Dave POV bit for his birthday. >_> looks like he's figuring some shit out! 
> 
> the song Dave is describing in the chapter is "I love you (Brodinski remix)" by Woodkid! Look it up for atmosphere! 
> 
> -
> 
> If you didn't read it, I posted a side ho rosemary ficlet for 100 kudos and maybe for 200 there will be another one of a varying flavor of ship or something??? HMMM haha 
> 
> I also have a blog where I post (but it's a hodgepodge of a lot of different things) and the link is in my profile so check it out, I'll post fic stuff and update stuff there, etc etc :)


	11. Thin Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave and Kakat kinda jointly third-wheel at an ice skating rink with Rose and Kanaya

“Wow, you’re so bad at this.”

“YOU’RE FUCKING STUPID!”

“That’s no way to speak to your savior here, Karkat.”

“SAVIOR MY ASS. MORE LIKE A GLORIFIED BEANPOLE WITH A TONGUE CONSTANTLY LOLLING OUT OF YOUR BULGEMUNCH MOUTH, WAITING TO SUCK UP THE PISS-ANT FLIES THAT SWARM AROUND THE FESTERING CORPSE OF YOUR PERSONALITY.”

“Okay, guess I just have to leave you here.”

“… Dave, no.”

“Bye.”

“Dave. Dave, please. _DAVE._ I CAN’t skAtE DAVE.”

This. This asshole… he just left you here. Alone and gripping the side of the rink for dear life. You might just cry because there’s a small child trying to skate rings around you and also laughing at your expense. 

Why did you come on this trip? Why did you agree to come here with these fucking losers who probably only wanted to see you utterly fail at ice skating? 

Kanaya and Rose glide by, hand in hand, eyes only for each other except when they come closest to you. Kanaya, seeing you’re not in immediate danger, just laughs a bit behind her hand and passes you. She spins, twirling Rose. 

Fuck them.

You’re cold, you can’t properly stand, you’re angry, and you’re flustered. 

A pair of jeans ending in rental skates comes up directly in front of you. “You still want to sass me or do you want to learn to skate?”

Your face alights with flames as Dave leans forward to get his stupid glasses in your line of sight. His face is so close to yours. You remember last week with the rain and his birthday party. You try not to remember last week with the rain and his birthday party. Or how much you wanted him to kiss you. This whole situation with the pleading and the struggle reminds you entirely too much of that dream you had what feels like months ago, and you're suddenly insanely glad you haven't had any more since then.

“Can you just help me get off the fucking rink, Strider?”

“What, does baby need a break?” He skates a little circle without facing away from you. “Is ice skating too _hawwd?_ ” 

Okay, the baby voice is almost your breaking point, and your glower could melt the ice below your feet. But you really need his help to leave this place with dignity.

“Yes, oh powerful asshole, commander of the anal sphincter’s rear and more graceful guard, I’ll try again later!”

At your agreement he gets under you and hoists one of your arms over his shoulders. His left hand finds your waist and grips tight, and the feeling makes something warm sprout in you. You have to smother it. 

Dave’s mouth is sending hot breaths across your cold cheek as he supports you across the slick surface, warmer than even your scarf inside your jacket collar. 

“Alright, get ready,” Dave starts, and that’s the only warning you get before he’s spinning you as you both cross the ice. One of your toes leaves the surface and it’s all you can do to cling to his neck and hold the fuck on. He’s laughing when you stop next to the door, you assume at your expression.

Growling and face even more aflame, you grumble yourself over to a picnic table and start undoing your laces. Dave appears just as you’re getting your skates off and sets your slip-ons next to your feet, and your bag on the tabletop. He disappears again, and reappears after you’ve put your other shoes temporarily back on, and checked your missed texts and voicemail. 

“You know, I never thought I’d meet someone shorter than you,” Dave asserts frankly, apparently trying to start a conversation.

A cardboard bowl of the hottest seasoned fries you’ve ever seen gets set in front of your nose, and you can’t even complain that they’re on top of your windbreaker before you’re reaching out to shove a few in your mouth. 

“What the fuck are you on about now?” You know the answer to your question before he replies.

“Your brother! He’s so short! When he dropped you off here earlier I was amazed.”

“Yeah, he’s literally always carded at restaurants and shit when he just wants a small glass of wine.”

Dave chuckles as he sits close next to you, grumbling about how cold it is in this building and his own fragile constitution. 

You had a missed call from your father, and you’re going to put off calling him back until later tonight until he calls again, and your phone begins to chime out the Kill Bill siren. Sending an apologetic look to Dave, you open the call and slide the fries a little bit closer to him instead.

“¿Bueno?” You answer, and your brain switches fluidly over to the other language in order to have this conversation. 

“Hello son, do you have a few minutes?”

“Yeah I do, dad.”

“I wanted to talk to you about Christmas.”

“What about it?”

“I am going to contribute service this year for at least the first half of Christmas Day, at the church.”

“… okay.”

“That means we would be having a late dinner and doing everything later in the day, with the family. Is that alright with you?”

“I guess.”

“You sound upset.” He sounds angry. He probably had a long day. You bristle. You were having a pretty good day, all things considered. And he calls you like this?

“I’m not upset, father.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be upset about me helping out if you were **_closer to God_** and the church.”

Everything goes colder and stiller than the rink. You seethe.

The next minute it’s like you’re having some kind of visceral reaction and the words are pouring out like pus and blood out of a wound reopened. 

“What happened to it being okay? What happened to the acceptance?” You try to stop yourself. “Maybe the reason I’m upset isn’t because I’m the godless heathen you think I am. Maybe the reason I’m upset is because for the past few years, you never seem to want to spend holidays with your family. Why are you fucking abandoning us?” 

You don’t mean it, you know it’s unreasonable. 

Your father falters on the phone, and you can feel his take a breath and it’s evident in his tone that he realized he called you at the wrong moment for both you and himself.

“Karkat. Things are tense between us—“

You barrel forward, not giving him a chance to speak. It hurts too much, this abandonment that you’re seeing in him and his tone and his breaking of his own word that it was fine.

“You’re just leaving us… so that’s the straw that means you don’t want me around for Christmas? Fine.”

“Your cousins are coming in, Karkat, and your grandmother and your aunt and uncle for dinner—“

“I can find somewhere else to be. I hope you enjoy your holiday.”

You hang up on him after a moment of silence on his end, and you feel immature and selfish, cold and hurt and stupid. But you can’t fix it, can you? Your father obviously wouldn’t want you around now.

Dave inhales from next to you, quite loudly for some reason, and you jump clean off the seat. You forgot he was there. 

“I didn’t get a word out of it, but that sounded kind of tense. You okay dude?”

You can smell the fries, still, but the scent kind of makes you sick now. You were going to go to your dad’s and decorate for a few days around the holiday, and bake and start preparing food for family. You were thinking about making tamales with Kankri and abuelita this year. 

The company you work for gave you a lot of time off for the holiday because you never call in sick and it was only a couple days longer than they give everyone else. 

It’s been quiet for about five minutes that feel like hours before Dave inhales to speak again, this time around a mouthful of hot fries. 

You interrupt him before he can get rolling on putting his entire leg in his mouth, however, and ask him a question.

“That offer to come to your mom’s still up?”

“She’s Mom, but not my mom, dude.” He’s gonna take it back, you think hysterically, and thankfully are immediately proven wrong. “Sure, though. Door didn’t close yet.”

Relief and something else make you feel like you’re going to cry. He doesn’t try to comfort you like humans sometimes do, which is also good.

You can feel his latent mother hen instincts slowly activating, like an engine warming up in freezing weather. You tuck your chin further into the fluffy scarf you’re wearing. The jagged edge of one of your claws scraped at the nail bed of another.

Thankfully Kanaya comes over soon after that, somehow sensing how awful you feel. 

“I’ll get you some information about travel and stuff soon. Need to buy you a ticket,” Dave adds, seeming a little concerned. 

Kanaya thankfully just sits next to you, and places her hand on your right shoulder blade. She doesn’t ask you about it. That’s amazing. Rose looks curious and you can feel her and Dave silently communicating over your head.

You think about drinking yourself to sleep when you get home. You don’t feel up to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So I have the next few chapters either written or outlined, but I need to work with timing, so I gotta release them weekly anyway. :) And I found my date, it's on Thursdays! Anyhoo stay tuned for the Christmas two-parter, this one is so short because the next one is kinda long, tbh, even in two parts. 
> 
> More familial drama is in the future but I'm not gonna get it too far because this fic is supposed to be, for all intents and purposes, a romcom. 
> 
> I hope everyone is having a lovely Christmas season and I'll see you in a week :3c


	12. back on the fucking train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> our heroes go to Mom Lalonde's house for Christmas and they take the train! why don't they drive? no one knows!!

You manage to get off work for a week around Christmas, and the four of you leave the Fort Worth train station the day before the actual holiday. The train is late as all hell, and way more crowded than you’re used to but you and Dave manage to score two seats sitting right next to each other. 

Kanaya and Rose are several rows away. Kanaya’s closest living relative had to work again, but then they’re not the type to do much for Christmas anyway, so it’s fine. They were sleeping on each other when you passed by earlier on the way back to the bathroom. It was really cute.

Dave is asleep next to you right now, kind of leaning on your shoulder and drooling a bit on your scarf. Only one of his earbuds is in, and the other one is draped across your thigh where you had brushed it off to from where it had fallen onto your book. Speaking of your book, you’re reading the sequel to the one you had been reading on the last trip. It’s quite good, and passes the time well.

It can be a little hard to focus on reading with Dave being his usual pesky self, however.

Dave snorts a little and turns his head on your shoulder. It can’t be comfortable, twisted the way that he is with one leg over your suitcase and the other folded up in front of him, but he’s sleeping through it so you don’t care. 

Earlier in the ride he had started a game of I Spy with you and it had lasted all of a few minutes before you had laughed from the irony. You didn’t know if Dave remembered that he had been trying to play it with Rose the day the two of you met. 

But you think he might remember, because he got this little smile like playing the game was an inside joke with himself. Maybe he didn’t think you remembered or knew either? 

There was no bothering or playing games or roughhousing on this trip; it was just kind of quiet and peaceful. You were glad though. It gave you plenty of time to imagine what the next several days would be like and definitely not think about your conflict with your father.

In fact, you were very seriously NOT thinking about it, and had put Kankri on your phone’s temporary ignore list so that you wouldn’t have to deal with his shit. He for one was not happy with you.

You very seriously did NOT care. At all. Not even a bit were you checking your phone to see if your father had called or your brother had texted you.

They hadn’t, yet. Kankri a little, earlier in the week. But all you got from your father was this big blank radio silence.

It was fine. 

You get to Temple, Texas and step off onto the platform that’s a good deal smaller and less protected from the elements than the one closest to your hometown. Dave, almost freshly woken from his nap, yawns and stretches and drags his bag behind him, gesturing for you to follow to meet up with the girls, who were waiting for you two already. 

You figure Rose had called Roxy or something because there she was, waiting next to a large four-door pickup and hefting Kanaya’s suitcase into the bed. You’re almost convinced that the truck is ironically owned. You’re not entirely sure, though. Roxy’s not really as Strider-y as Dave or his brother.

\--

The house is huge and covered in decorations.

Dave is fully awake by now and laughing at the expression on your face as you stand in front of the pretty large fucking house. 

Now, mind, the house isn’t actually in Temple but a bit outside it. It overlooks a river, you think? 

It has fucking columns in front, okay? Four fucking thick columns that hold the large upstairs patio to the ground, and even shade a bit of the wraparound porch on the ground level. 

A tree shades you from the sun so that you can bask in the size of this house. What the fuck is it, like, six bedrooms? Seven bath? The garage is its own separate building, for fuck’s sake. 

How do they keep it all clean? They probably have a gardener and a maid, right?

You might pass out just a tad. 

Dave leads you inside, up the scrolled fucking banister with the carpeted fucking stairs (Dirk and I were both running around in here once and slipped on the floor so she added the carpeting) and into what he says was his old room, but was converted into a double fucking guest room.

It’s a huge room, you see, and part of you doesn’t want to touch the immaculate sheeting yet because then you’ll have made your mark on such an expensive place.

Dave easily throws his luggage down on the floor next to one of the two full beds in here. He sets about taking his toiletry bag to the shared connected bathroom. 

Oh yeah, there’s enough room in here for two full beds and then some. Dave is muttering something about there being enough room for a second bed now that his mixing tables aren’t in here.

Ay dios. 

You inspect the place, and find a large bay window facing east (thankfully with blackout curtains), a walk-in closet with two dressers inside and some extra hangers, a pretty big full-length mirror in the bathroom, various extra toiletries like spares and stuff, a linen closet with very nice-seeming towels in it, and then the two beds and their small dressers next to them.

You don’t open the drawers.

\--

Later, you find Dirk in the kitchen making the meat for Christmas Eve tacos and kick him out of the way so that you can properly season it. After some surprised spluttering that is very out of character according to Dave’s snark, Dirk resigns himself to chopping onions and tomatoes. You make sure Dave shreds the cheese after he tries to escape.

Everyone likes your tacos, no surprise there. 

After dinner, Dave insists on watching Christmas movies. Something about the fact that this family doesn’t open any presents before the actual holiday calms you, and you let him pick the first few movies. They all end up being a couple of the different claymation movies like the old-ass Rudolph one, and you cringe through all of it. 

You convince him to watch the human version of The Santa Clause. The nostalgia is great and Dave only complains a little bit. 

Somewhere around two in the morning, you and Dave crawl under your respective covers, and go to sleep.

“Merry Christmas, Karkat.”

“Merry Christmas, Loser.”

\--

It’s Mom who wakes the two of you by running in and belly-flopping on top of the bed closest to the door, IE: yours. It results in you emitting something that, according to Dave, only bats could hear, and her running back downstairs. 

You and Dave both awkwardly grab the presents you had brought for everyone, and go down to see everyone already sitting around the tree in various states of sleepiness. Rose is leaning on Kanaya’s back, and you sit next to your moirail. Dave sits behind you on the sofa, after passing out his presents.

Dirk is wearing a Santa costume that you are dutifully ignoring, with a beard and everything right down to the black boots. 

Roxy is just sleeping on the couch, occupying the space that Dave was not, and snoring like a train.

Mom bustles over and lays stockings across everyone’s lap. 

You get one too, which you were not expecting. It has your name neatly penned on it in black glitter gel, with some ugly little cartoon reindeer. It must have taken Ms. Lalonde a bit of time, and you look up at her and open your mouth to protest.

“Don’t worry about anything, dear. You come to Christmas and you’re part of the family,” Mom Lalonde silences you before you can question her. 

The kindness and togetherness is so reminniscent of your actual family and you have to sigh in order to suppress the feelings.

You look over to Dave, who’s holding his up with something like resignation to show you the front (like he knew you would ask). It has badly-penned red glitter writing on it that says his name, and a bunch of similarly badly-applied decorative beads and candy canes and such. The other three Strider-Lalondes have them, you can see, and they were all obviously decorated by themselves as children.

That’s so fucking cute.

You reach into the stocking and pull out various chocolates, some nice troll-brand nail polish, a comb, and a small container of some very nice horn treatment. And some toe socks with tiny crabs on the toes. You of course immediately put them on. 

Kanaya got gloves instead of socks in hers, but all the other stuff was the same except with more fingernail polish. 

“Dave, what did you get?” You sound too excited and childish when you turn around.

“Some extra ear buds and lotion and chocolate,” he says absently while he fishes through the overlarge sock. “And… some fucking rad socks.” Of which he’s already put on.

You expertly wiggle your toes at him, and he wiggles his right back. His toes have little black birds on them. He’s acting like it’s no big deal but you’ve heard him complaining about the cheap apple headphones he has for when he needs something more portable. Mom Lalonde is sharp.

Then it gets to time to open real presents. 

Everyone settles back down, and there’s soft Christmas music playing from somewhere. By their tradition, everyone takes turns opening all their gifts at a time from youngest family member to oldest. Dave goes first.

“Aw fuck yeah, I always go first.”

His fingers wiggle as he looks through the pile of gifts that have been put in front of him, and he picks up Rose’s first. He rips open the paper to reveal the most godawful sweater you’ve ever seen. He hoots and puts it on, proudly displaying the orange-on-green-on-pink pattern of records and crocodiles. Rose looks pleased. 

From Kanaya, a new custom silk ascot, from Dirk, an edible bikini, from Roxy, cufflinks that look suspiciously like they’re set with real onyx. From Mom, a very nice black tie and onyx tie clip, and from you… 

You don’t have the most money to spend on extra things, so you focused pretty hard on what to get Dave. And you got Dave a preserved hammerhead shark in a jar.

Everyone else in the room kind of makes various noises of disgust but Dave looks like he’s hit the jackpot and can’t stop turning it in his hands. 

“You said you used to collect dead things as a kid but lost them. So here’s one, however disgusting it is,” you kind of ramble, trailing off. Dave carefully sets his shark down and roughly wraps an arm around your neck so that he can grind a fist into the hair between your horns. He doesn’t say much else, but rubs his forehead into the top of your head and it makes you a little lightheaded.

Next up is Rose, and she got a lovely gown from Kanaya (who blushed bright jade when put in the spotlight here), a book of tentacle porn from Dirk, a tentacle sweater from Roxy (you’re starting to notice a trend), a necklace from Mom, a set of tentacle leggings from Dave, and a fairly old book on the occult from you. You’d needed Kanaya’s advice for Rose.

And it’s your turn, Dave makes sure to loudly proclaim. Surprisingly your pile is just as big as everyone else’s, and it makes your heart clench fiercely. You follow Dave’s lead and open your gift from Rose first. It’s surprisingly not a sweater, but instead a hat with ear flaps, in gray with black lining, and little snowflakes knitted into it. It has holes in the top for your horns, which makes you smile. Kanaya made you a nice scarf in green, also with snowflakes on it. Dirk got you an apron with a human woman’s naked body on it, covered in red rose petals. Dave dissolves into a mild fit of snorting laughter. 

You glare at Dirk, holding the reclosed box (which is admittedly very nice quality) a little ways out from yourself. 

“What?” He asks innocently, “You were looking at mine like you wanted one.”

Quickly turning to Roxy’s gift, you shove Dirk’s between your back and the couch. You’re just glad he didn’t get you a fucking cock ring or something. Roxy had ended up getting you something off your Amazon wish list (how she found it you don’t know), a set of ice trays shaped like dinosaurs that you had put on there as a joke (you’re excited about them anyway), and Mom got you some warm good socks that were even attractive in multiple colors and the gesture made you tear up a bit.

Lastly was Dave. You started ripping wrapping paper off the small box, expecting something stupid and ironic, but when you open it there are two tickets sitting in the box, for the aquarium. Dave is saying something about how you had been ranting about something one day, and how there were some of something at the Dallas Aquarium, but you’re a little phased out of the situation.

Father had taken you to an aquarium one summer, when it was hotter than it had any right to be. The animals that caught your eye were the ones that anyone could probably guess, with the long legs and pincers and little eyes that were stupider than any other marine animal. You spent about forty minutes in front of that tank, holding your father’s hand while you sat on a bench and watched them and had him read the display for fiddler crabs over and over again.

You had been five years old. Your mother died three weeks later. 

“Thanks Dave. We should go soon. To the aquarium.”

You hold the nice socks in your hands and rub your fingers over the soft exterior texture.

Kanaya became your moirail fairly recently and doesn’t know about your distress, which is fine by you because she’s having a good morning. She’s opening presents now, anyway. She’s two years older than you.

Kanaya gets a set of very nice needles for her sewing machine that Roxy and Mom pitched in on, a box of thread from Dirk, the nail filing kit she would have never bought herself from you, a mixtape from Dave, and a promise into her ear from Rose that makes her face light up like… well… Christmas morning.

Dirk gets a pony dakimakura from you that he nearly cries over, a set of knives from Mom and Roxy and Rose and Kanaya, and eyeglass polish from Dave.

Thumbs kneading the socks in your hands. You’re pretty sure everyone pitched in to get Roxy some new tires for her car, because she’s the type that loves extremely practical gifts. Mom got a set of nice bottle stoppers with cat butts sticking out of them from you, and that’s all you can really hear right now.

Everything is a bit blank until just after presents, when you stick your bare feet into the cold pool out back. It’s strangely pretty chilly in this part of Texas this year.

Impulse had a good idea and told you to do it. The water is freezing, and you flex your toes in it. 

“Hey man, what’s up?”

“Hey Dave,” you reply, exhaling some of your warmth onto your knees.

He sits down next to you. “You wanna get your feet outta there and go in and warm up? The fireplace is LIT.” He draws out the word “lit” like he’s some lame frat fuckboy.

The joke was bad and usually you’d give him a hard time for it. But you don’t really say anything yet, and Dave seems to understand the need for silence, thankfully not saying anything but getting closer to you on the concrete. His vague warmth does feel pleasant.

The tips of your toes are paler than normal and turn a little pink on top of your gray skin as time passes under the water.

“You know that fight I had with my dad last week?” You say softly, like he’ll hear it. Like God will hear it.

“Yeah.”

“We had a fight a while back about me and my lifestyle. Trolls don’t have a gay thing, even with Christianity, so before you ask, that’s not it. Fucking human movie clichés. It was about my desire to not be a part of the church. We didn’t talk for a long time and then on some kind of silent agreement we decided to not talk about it so we could be more of a family again. It was all really messy and painful.”

“It came up from his side, I guess?”

“Yeah. I flipped out, you heard me, it was ugly.” You kind of choked on that last part.

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Tell me about it.”

Dave inhales. “I’m sure that isn’t the whole thing, though. It sounds like you feel bad about something else as well.”

“It feels really immature but Christmas has just… not felt good for a couple years and I guess I’m fed up. It’s been stilted… and awkward and… awful. Same goes for family-” You kind of choke again, and you’re not going to cry here. This is stupid. “Togetherness,” you finish.

Dave is quiet.

“I still have my dad’s house set as ‘home’ in my GPS.”

Your voice definitely cracks on the last word this time. Well, you’re crying pretty bad now. Your tears are the warmest thing on your face or your body right now.

“How can I still want it to be home for some reason if they can’t stand me, and we end up arguing half the time?” There’s snot, it’s fucking gross. Your ears are stopping up a little and you run your white sleeve across your eyes. It comes away with a blush-colored stain. 

It’s quiet and a grackle calls from a tree next to the house. Your feet are pretty cold, leeching the rest of your body and your pinky toes are starting to tingle a tiny bit. Crying in front of Dave is humiliating, but it’s the only thing you can do with the exponentially expanding embarrassment from hearing your own sniffles.

After five minutes of this, Dave talks again.

“I don’t really know what to say, but I’m gonna say it anyway. If it gets too pale and you want me to stop, do it.”

You sniff a pretty strong one, and cough once. Nod.

“Family can be awkward and awful sometimes. Sometimes you have swords in your fridge and you get handcuffed to a pipe on the roof in the rain instead of presents. Sometimes your dad works too much to fill his time and gets real tired, like yours. Sometimes you have to sit in silence for a bit, breathe and learn to accept that this is the way your family functions.”

You’ve stopped streaming liquid from most of your facial orifices, distracted by Dave’s monotone.

“These holidays tend to have a stupid amount of weight because of like, movies and shit telling you it has to be some hugely amazin’ thing.”

You look at him now, blinking at the dryness in your eyes. You move your toes again.

“For some people that just doesn’t happen and they gotta be a little uncomfortable, y’know? I’ve seen…”

“Seen what?” You break through to ask, voice rough from crying.

“I know you’re a fucking bleeding heart till the day you die about everything being perfect, but it’s gonna be okay, I’m sure. I’ve seen the way you dad looks at you, man. He really loves you.”

You don’t want to tell Dave he’s wrong, and you don’t want to tell him he’s right either. You settle for making a flat noise.

“You should call him on the phone maybe?” Dave tries again.

The suggestion makes you reel a little inside and you have to breathe heavily for a second before you reply. 

“Not today,” you manage, and it’s kind of weak.

“Okay,” Dave says back, sounding a little like he wants to reprimand you but not doing it. 

Your toes are starting to hurt so you agree to let him take you inside and prop your feet up next to the fire. Dave wraps a warm blanket around your thinly clad shoulders and tucks you against his side on the loveseat he pulled up to the hearth.

“I’m so tired, Dave.”

“Feeling actual emotions is hard work, man.”

“Fuck you. Stop hitting on me paleways. Where’s Kanaya.”

“She and Rose went upstairs to take a nap.” He sounds a little like he would never dream of bothering them, but he might if you need your moirail.

“Ah.”

It’s 11 AM and you sit in front of the fire and eat a late breakfast of eggs on toast. You and Dave go upstairs after food and watch your choice of Love Actually sitting side by side on his bed in the room. He rubs your spine a bit through the blanket, and you have to work not to melt into him but your emotionally tired brain doesn’t bother to suppress the small purring that comes from inside your chest.

A couple of times you look over and see him blushing at kisses in the film. Figures he loves profanity but can’t handle a romance. But fuck Dave, this is your favorite ever Christmas movie. It’s got everything: romance, tragedy, heartbreak, Christmas cheer, bad jokes, improbable life connections, the list can go on forever.

At 2PM, right when credits start, a blur in blue bursts into the room and you scream as a pie full of whipped cream nails Dave right in the face. 

“Gotcha!” John Egbert hollers from the doorway as Dave falls clumsily off the side of the bed, flailing. “Merry Christmas jerkface!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! as promised(I think), christmas will be in two parts because it's pretty long and I didnt want to have one long chapter out of the blue! 
> 
> tho I may have to do that for another chapter that I'm planning, depending on how long I decide to make it!
> 
> part two will be uploaded christmas eve next week, and a cursory apology for the angst because ha! frankly, it's not gonna be much worse than this, but it's not gonna get all better for a few chapters! also surprise john!
> 
> also I've been trying to do current weather in texas since it is my home state, but it's been kinda weirdly warm and probably will be up until at least christmas, so I'm just saying fuck it, and writing the weather that we usually see here this time of year because warm weather is really boring
> 
> I hope everyone is being safe and having a good holiday ^_^


	13. Christmas part 2: Electric Boogaloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what the title says! with extra mistletoe and new years fireworks tacked on for extra sparkle

You think Dave might bust a blood vessel if he wasn’t trying desperately not to laugh. As in, his normal level of anger or shock at something like this was totally erased when John called him a jerkface.

Dave’s eyes were closed when he took off his shades to get up to go to the bathroom and clean off the lenses. The rest of his face, a clean outline around where the frames had been, was covered in what did not turn out to be whipped cream, but instead white shaving cream. A chunk dripped off and onto the sink edge when Dave leaned over to rinse his face and the front of his hair. 

You felt like something sacred was being interrupted when he glared affectionately up from the sink. John threw an arm around his neck, getting mess on them both as he hugged Dave. So you looked away, and focused on using a towel from your shower last night to clean off the smears of white shit from the bed and floor.

“We’re staying till after New Years!” John says, and you’re a little amazed. This is the John you’ve heard about from Dave. He’s real and he’s here and somehow he’s an adult even with the nasally voice you've heard once over skype and the short stature.

“I know, you smurf, I invited you and your dad to come visit.” There’s a happiness in Dave’s voice that you’re a little jealous of in a really shitty way.

“Well yeah but we brought Jake and Jade too!”

“What about Jane?”

“She said she’ll be here for New Years but she’s catering a seasonal wedding!”

“Roxy will be glad to hear.” Dave has his glasses back on and wrestles himself out of John’s grip to lead him to you. 

Standing straight from where you were bent over to shove the dirty towel into the hamper, you look straight at John. He’s shorter than you, which is a little refreshing, and for some reason wearing all-blue pajamas with little snowmen on them and a giant hood. He must sense the question on your lips, and he grins. 

“I’m John Egbert and I fully believe in no real clothes on Christmas!”

Dave snorts.

“Karkat Vantas,” you reply rather shittily.

Dave pats you on the shoulder, grins at John, and starts pulling him out of the room. He points at your phone. “Call your dad.”

He looks back at John, who’s protesting not getting to talk to you longer, and grabbing the bag that’s still in his hand and saying something or another about taking him to his room so he can get better settled in.

You figure Dave’s using your general lack of ability to properly communicate against you. You should call your father, though. After the events of this morning it feels and sounds like a really good idea. Fuck Dave and his intuition. 

It takes you a good five minutes of sitting and staring at your phone to actually make the call. 

Voicemail is what answers you, which makes sense because your father is still probably working. 

When you get to the part where you wait in silence for the beep, all you can say is “Sorry, I love you.”

You kind of hope he won’t call you back. 

\--------

There are a lot of people in the house, now. It feels very full and voices and music are everywhere. You meet Jade, who you immediately find contest with. She doesn’t take your shit, though, and that comforts you. Her massive white dog that she brought slobbers on your face, and you find yourself too consumed by shock and love for the animal to care that it probably licks its own ass.

Jade is sitting in the living room right now, and all the girls including Mom are visiting and doing what are, according to Dave, “girly sleepover activities.” It also must be mentioned that Dave is also participating by proxy and he and John are playing video games while Roxy and Jade paint their toes silly colors. Kanaya oversaw trimming and futzing with their nail shape and care beforehand.

The only reason why you’re not in there is because the only persons you trust with your nails are yourself and Kanaya, and you’re also helping make dinner while Dirk gets very distracted by Jake. Meaning, earlier you had to shove Dirk out of the kitchen when he and Jake almost knocked over the hot pan of cherry sauce, making out against the stove.

That was how you met Jake, actually. He seemed surprised that someone would be walking into the kitchen, and went absolutely the pinkest when Dirk went ahead with his gentle exploration of his neck. He’d grabbed for leverage so he could shove away, and grabbed the handle of the saucepan. You were five inches and an almost-burned hand away from a decent amount of work to repeat to duplicate the recipe.

Dirk and Jake were shoved out of the kitchen very unceremoniously by yourself. 

You ended up making the rest of the food with Dirk popping in occasionally to check on you. He claims it’s because he does all the cooking for holidays due to Roxy and Mom being absolute shit at it. There were white potatoes again, and the large spiral ham, and roasted brussels sprouts. The work feels good even if the food is incredibly boring. It keeps your mind off of things as well.

Dirk complains once or twice that you’re not wearing your apron, so you go get it and wear it inside out. 

\--

“Thank you Karkat for helping make the food!” Mom looks amazed.

“It’s no problem.” It’s hard not to smile, here, when you’re sitting next to Dave and your plate is full of good food and you’re surrounded by people who love each other. Jake is on your other side, Dirk across from him so that they won’t be making everyone uncomfortable for the whole meal. 

Halfway through your glass of wine, you feel a socked foot on your leg. It makes you jump and hiss, and you look up through a bite of your roll to see Dirk giving Jake what he probably hopes is smoldering eyes from across the table. Jake seems confused.

You kick the shin connected to the foot and growl at the pale human. A fork narrowly misses Jake’s dark palm on the table. They stop all foolishness and go to eating.

Jade is giving you an impressed look from across the table, and Dave stops harassing John long enough to ask, “The fuck happened there?”

You shrug it off and yank the fork out of the placemat padding and use it for your ham instead.

Dad (he actually insisted that everyone call him Dad, because two Johns would apparently get confusing here) is sitting at the head of the table with Mom. Roxy is shooting them disgusted looks every now and then as they badly flirt over their wine. Rose and Kanaya look mildly horrified at the occasional bad innuendo, and of course everyone can tell they’re joking for the sake of the misery of their children. 

“They are joking, right?” John asks softly, eating some corn off the cob.

“God I hope so, this is fucking weird,” Dave replies, and you snort. 

“So weird,” John finishes, and you just tuck further into your ham. You pour more of your fucking amazing cherry sauce over it. 

\-------

“Let’s watch Christmas movies!” John claps his hands and everyone (including Jade and Jake, for some reason) groans a little. 

“Too many movies over the past few days!” Jade complains loudly, confidently. 

You don’t see the look John gives her, from where you’re collapsed onto the couch next to Dave, but you assume it’s the best pathetic pouty lips expression in the history of man, because she quickly relents. 

Quietly, Jade mutters, “Only if it’s Die hard or Home Alone. Those are the last on the list we never finished.”

John outvotes everyone in the room, and shoves Home Alone into the DVD player.

You only kind of pay attention to the films, full and drifting and blankly enjoying the atmosphere on your second glass of mulled wine.

John starts shaking Dave at some point in the second movie, when the kid is setting up the prank in the hotel room. Dave makes a noise of complaint, but you look over and you can see the corner of his mouth twitch up as he and John recite, “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.”

John laughs loudly and you’re starting to accept that this is how their friendship is. The closest thing Dave needs or has to a moirail. It’s all very sweet. 

John is okay, you guess.

You snort into your last sip of wine, and decline when Mom offers to get you another glass. 

Instead, you get up to get a glass of water from the kitchen. You glance back at the living room to see if anyone wants anything just as you open the door, and get shoved aside by Dave as a bucket of water crashes down onto where your head had been. One of your hands somehow landed in a cupcake on a table next to the kitchen door, and frosting oozes through your fingers as you stare up at a now-drenched Dave.

John is losing his shit in the background, and you would be close to losing yours too if you weren’t too surprised. John high-fives his dad, and anyone else who will give him one because at this point there are a few people applauding sarcastically or laughing behind their hands. 

You hate John.

You go to move away and wash the icing off your hand, grumbling, but Roxy makes a noise of reprimand from her seat on the floor. “Look up, boys, and read it and weep.”

There’s mistletoe there. Of course there is. 

Either the chill of the water is making Dave’s skin flush red, or he’s catching a fucking cold because there’s no way he’s actually embarrassed about this. People begin to somewhat stupidly chant “Mistletoe! Mistletoe!” behind the two of you, and a big part of you gets nervously fed up at the pressure and the stillness. 

Sprinkle-tipped fingers fly up to grab at Dave’s stupidly sharp jaw without any of your real permission. Green frosting smears across his dark skin, and you lean up to press your mouth to his for maybe two seconds. All cold fish, he makes no moves even as you pull away from him. As a kiss, it was mostly unremarkable. You’re a little disappointed. What were you expecting, though?

When you get back to where you were, however, he seems to recover some dignity and a spark forms in his eye. 

Of course Dave sweeps you into a dip, off your feet. 

Of course you don’t scream. Or go into a fit of rage. Of course everyone cheers loudly at the show. 

Dave places a light kiss directly on your upper lip. Lips are so soft, so strangely soft. You’d blink and miss the kiss he gives you before he dips you even further, and then pulls you back to normal height. 

You can smell Dave’s wet skin from here, though. You breathe in the scent and get a whiff of the musky kind of Old Spice smell that’s all him, with the sweet flavor of the mistletoe. A kind of realization forms in the back of your head about the thin line between platonic and romantic. And the currently thin space between you and Dave. There are cheers and wolf whistles.

“Excuse me, I’m kinda damp,” Dave says, and deposits you on your feet. He flees up the stairs, then. Dad bursts out of the kitchen right next to you, and you scree again for the probably fifth time today. He looks disappointed at the frosting on your hand, and you glance over to the table you had caught yourself on. And yes, it’s full of Christmas tree cupcakes. 

\-----

Dave doesn’t come down for a couple hours, and you can hear the shower running upstairs. You say goodnight to everyone and head up. Dave is already a lump under the covers. His sunglasses catch the light from the open door, and you suddenly wonder what his face looks like without them. You’ve never really seen his eyes.

You’d never thought about it because it’s just Dave, but for some reason now you really want to know. Can he still hide himself without the lenses between him and the world? He told you once that he wears them because his eyes are really sensitive to light for no good reason. You suspect that it’s not just that, though. And not something stupid about how the eyes themselves look.

You crawl into bed.

You remember the mistletoe and your face gets so hot.

\-----

New Years’ Eve has the whole group, now including one Miss Jane Crocker to Roxy’s delight, out on the cliff overlooking the river at the house. The local government decided to put on a fireworks show for the New Year, and you all have champagne and are sitting on blankets and wearing thick sweaters to combat the chill. 

Things between you and Dave have been awkward for several days. You’re not quite on tenterhooks since that kiss on Christmas, but you’ve been uncomfortable around each other. Thankfully John was there and is here on the blanket with the two of you, to help even things out and distract you both with his antics. 

Speaking of which, he’s currently trying to stealthily stick a sparkler in the back of Dave’s hoodie. He succeeds, but before he can light it, Dave swats him and his gunpowder stick away with a begrudging grumble.

Jake and Dirk are laying on their own blanket fairly nearby, on their backs and watching the lights explode in the sky. Their closeness is making you think, so you try not to look at them. 

Think about something else, think about something else. Oh yeah, there’s the fact that your father never called you back.

Well, now you’re a little bit fucking depressed. 

Kanaya looks so happy and un-troubled about your issues, sitting over there with Rose.

Before you can come back to the land of the living, everyone is cheering and John is jumping and people are doing that thing where they kiss on New Years for good luck. Mom says something about black eyed peas back in the kitchen, and a few people start heading toward the house. 

You and Dave, though, are glued to the ground where you sit. You stare at each other. The lights are still going off and there are joyful voices everywhere, and he leans over so fast you don’t have time to react and plants a kiss on your cheek, just by your mouth. 

The lights are glowing off his glasses and dark human skin. 

“Happy New Year.” He says, and gets up.

You guess you won’t talk about anything. Or what just happened. 

You’re fine with that. You haven’t really talked about feelings with anyone for awhile.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually you can stand and gather the blanket. Dirk is holding the door for you when you get there, with raised eyebrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey-o~ despite this chapter, it's still gonna be a bit of a slow burn for our brave protagonists! next week we'll have karkat sorting out more of his shit, with an added bonus chapter to come mid-week, and so on! I hope everyone has a merry christmas tomorrow if you celebrate it, and if not please be safe and sane and happy!


	14. HELO DAV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat and his dad have a good talk, and Karkat recovers in an unhealthy way. Woo! Yahtzee!

You’re back home the day after New Year’s, and you need to go talk to your dad.

He’s probably at the church, but you text Kankri to make sure anyway. Kankri isn’t happy with you. He doesn’t say it, but you know. You know. 

The mass this morning is not crowded at all. The familiar voice of your father intones softly over the otherwise quiet room. It’s not a large sanctuary; it maybe has fifteen rows of pews with one aisle through the center, and at this time of day it’s only lit by the sunlight coming through the stained glass windows. And the candles. Lots of candles.

You shift the garnet-beaded rosary in your jacket pocket before you enter. You aren’t practicing, but, like you’ve not left off on your worship you walk over to the larger rack of votive candles. You light one for your friends, and one for your father and brother. The red glass glows enough to illuminate the donation tray next to the candles, and you place half the change in your wallet under the weight on it. 

Eight dollars feels like a lot to give for this, but something about being in this hall makes you feel penitent. Maybe it’s the incredibly large statue of Jesus crucified with a visible bleeding heart. 

The very ancient sign next to the door that asks for women to keep their wrists and ankles covered inside the church makes you want to laugh out loud. You don’t.

You hear a shift in your father’s intonation and know that he’s almost done. You won’t interrupt what he’s doing.

The entire pew next to him is empty, and quiet murmurs of the other patrons don’t follow you as you move to take your old place near him. The bench you had kneeled on for so many years of your life still has that rip in the padding on the corner. Your father made you stitch it up.

The hymnals are new. The spare bibles are not. 

As you pass the statue of Mary at the head of the aisle, you quickly kneel and then glance over at your father as if for approval. He continues with the recitation, in English, stoically looking once at you and then back toward the altar. 

The scent of incense wafts off of his sweater as you sink to your knees next to him, now. Forearms rest on the back of the pew in front of you, and you let the rosary from your pocket fall between your fingers. 

You do not do the call and response with the rest of the quiet Catholics here. You don’t belong here.

You haven’t belonged here since you were five years old.

The rushing feeling of nostalgia and memory fling through your eyes and ears as you bow your head, close your eyes, and absorb the smoky, dusty, reverent feeling of being back. 

At some point, maybe hours later, someone must take over for your father, because he begins to gather his things. 

“Can we talk?” You ask softly, over the rustling of his jacket.

He pauses.

“Sí, mijo.”

You also gather your things, and the two of you end up walking over the parish hall. He takes you through the kitchen, grabs water bottles for you both, and moves back outside to sit on a bench in the warm sun. 

The both of you are quiet, now, and drink sips of your water in silence, and listen to the birds sing in the trees just outside. A piece of gravel from the parking lot is stuck in your shoe, and you pick it out. 

“What did you come here to talk about, mijo?”

“I don’t want to not talk to you for a long time again, father.”

“I must say that I agree.”

You try not to let your surprise show; you had thought it would be a more one-sided conversation.

Before you can continue with your piece, he adds, “It was painful the last time we were silent with each other. It hurt me, it hurt your father, inside.”

“It hurt me too, Dad.” You can hear him suck in a breath.

“Dad, it really sucks when you actively make plans other than... I want to… I should be a part of your life. Even if I can’t be a part of the church life, I don’t want things to be as tense as they are. I overreacted on the phone before Christmas, I fucking messed up. And I don’t know what’s wrong with me but it feels like you’re abandoning us now that we’re both adults.”

“Us?”

“Me and Kankri. I know he must feel this way too, or he would not spend quite as much time as he does here with you.”

Your father is silent, contemplative. A cold wind slaps you both in the face, but he doesn’t wince or bury his face further into his scarf, like you do. 

An arm lays across your shoulder, though, and pulls you close. 

“I got carried away. I should have asked if it was alright before I didn’t do Christmas with you, son. Our relationship was tense anyway and I said more things that could not be taken back.”

You want so badly to bury your face in his shoulder. The next thing that comes out of your mouth is louder, growly, more like your normal self. You can feel your father relax a bit at that, and grip the hand on your upper arm just a bit tighter. “Dad, no. I overreacted, like I fucking said. I was too ready to be angry.”

“This is true,” you chew your tongue, “But I am an adult and a parent with more than enough experience to know when and how I should act, son. I should have tried to get ahold of you, but I was very scared of making it all much worse.”

“I needed to be there for you. It is more with my beliefs to love you as my son than condemn you for slightly antiquated rules you have chosen to disobey.”

After that, the two of you fall completely quiet. It’s the way you’ve always sat together. Kankri is separate from it, and often it makes you feel bad, but he has way too much hot air in his head to let out.

Your father pulls you into a hug at your car. He’s always smelled like home, like comfort, since your mother died. It’s a sharp hug, with your inherited angles. 

On your way home, you stop to get a bag of shit tacos, and you also stop by the bottle shop.

\--

\-- carcinoGeneticist began trolling turntechGodhead \--

CG: HELO DAV  
TG: uh hi karkat whats up  
TG: its like  
TG: really late  
CG: I”M ON OUR ROF  
CG: ITS NIC UP HERE  
CG: YOUR  
CG: IT IS IN NO WAY MY ROFO  
TG: karkat are you okay wheres kanaya  
TG: do you want me to get her  
CG: UHH NO  
TG: im coming up there  
CG: OKAY

\-- carcinoGeneticist ceased trolling turntechGodhead \--

 

Laughter is just spilling like gravel off your tongue when Dave gets to the roof, and you can hear his sneakers practically skid to a stop across the concrete. 

“How the fuck did you get up here, man?”

“I dunno Dave.” You’re still laughing. It feels good to laugh. 

“Why are you drunk?”

“I… DUNNO, Dave!” You laugh harder because you yelled, and it was hilarious.

Smooth glass departs your fingertips just before you let it tip over and fall off the roof, and you hear a cap being screwed on.

“God this is gross, you smell like tacos and booze.” He’s disappointed in you, but that’s okay.

And now, of course, is the best time to explain yourself, so you do. It was probably the pressure of Dave judging you for the taco smell. Definitely not the booze smell. One bit. “Today was good results but bad tense road to get there.” Fucking solid.

“Are you speaking English?”

“YES, Dave.”

“… okay then.” You hear Dave pick up the plastic bag they gave you the food in, and shift it around. There’s a couple of his favorites in there. You probably ordered them for this reason, but it’s not important anymore. 

“Aw shit man, you got some for me? I like drunk Karkat.”

“Drunk Karkat wasn’t here yet when sober Karkat ordered the tacos, DAVE,” you protest, and you feel really hot. You strip off your jacket (you still have your sweater) (you go to check... yeah... that's your sweater), and that gets rid of the taco smell. Did you spill sauce on yourself or something? It shouldn’t be that strong of a smell, right?

“Drunk Karkat left some for me, though,” he gently argues, and you can hear him crunch down on something. Dave leans down to pick up your jacket for you. You let him finish the piece of food before you talk. 

“I talked to my dad today, Dave,” you try explaining again. You miss Kanaya. She’s so happy not being bothered by you, but you really miss her and her cool fingers on your scalp.

You’re vomiting your problems at Dave, now. Dave is still flushed, so it’s kind of okay right? Drunk-brain is very convincing.

If you were sober, you’d remember Christmas, and get even more revolted at yourself because you’re really bad about blurring quadrants.

The sound of rustling plastic stops, and you hear footsteps coming up behind you. You really want your bottle back. 

“Shit man are you okay? You seem happy but that could just be the drink so throw me a bone.”

Dave gets closer, sits next to you with his back against the rail. He can face you sideways now, since your feet are hanging off the roof. Like his birthday, right? You feel very cold now. The only solution is to hug someone, drunk Karkat tells you, and you take the last few feet between you into your own hands and wrap your arm around his torso. 

Of course, with his body heat so close, your face now feels cold, so you HAVE to push your face into his warm neck. Your breath smells like honey whiskey when you breathe in the closer quarters, and you hope he doesn’t mind too much. That whiskey was good… where’s the bottle at? You didn’t even finish a half of it. What a waste.

“I’m fine, happy, Dad and I made up and I’m happy but it still feels so weird, I feel so tense and alcohol feels so much better than the weird. I needed a drink. Alcohol is so good and wholesome, Dave.”

“I know dude, I know.”

“I’m really warm and sleepy Dave. Dave.”

“You want to sleep?”

“Yes Daveyyyyyy.”

“God help me.” 

You’re in a bed that smells like Dave. The pillows are kind of everywhere and the covers are a mess. It’s so him and _great_. “Dave, can you stay with me? You belong here.”

You actually mean in his own bed, right? He seems to understand that because of your tone. It’s good because you weren’t going to bother clarifying. It’s too much work to correct yourself and tell him that you meant that he should sleep in his own bed. Maybe it’s also too much work to tell him something that will make it easier for him to leave.

“That might just be the most cliché thing ever, and I will tease you for it for the rest of your pitiful life, but okay,” Dave says, and it’s perfect. 

And your shoes are gone! And your sweater! And your phone is somehow on the table next to you with your keys and wallet?

Dave is pushing a glass of water up to your mouth, so you drink a part of it, probably. The lights probably turn off, but that could just be you closing your eyes?

You wake up to texts from Kanaya, saying Dave texted her, and she’ll come pick you up at his apartment in the morning at your behest. You stay in his bed, curled against his front for another twenty minutes before you text her back. 

Kanaya says she’ll be there in an hour (I’ll Give You One More Hour And Then We Should Talk). 

Dave’s eyes are open when you put your phone down. You know your breath must smell like death, because it certainly tastes like it, but he’s still facing you, awake. _Without his sunglasses on_.

If you were a lesser human, you would swoon at the stupid grin he’s sporting.

You’re not even a human, what the fuck? Thankfully you’re just a lesser troll and are made of tougher stuff inside your chitinous shell. 

“God that expression is terrible on you.” The words make his grin stupider, and you wonder if he always looks like this when he smiles, but you’re just not seeing it because of the tinted glass barrier between you.

“Fuck you too Karks.”

Red spears you through the heart. It’s familiar, but startling to see on someone without your same gray skin and black hair (your father and brother).

You’re less surprised by the redness of his eyes, and more by how open he is without the shades. The feeling… is striking.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach. No, wait. Those are bees. Angry bees. Hornets. 

A herd of fucking wildebeest is rushing at the back of your throat, and that warmth in Dave’s eyes turns to confusion, then recognition and panic. 

Thankfully Dave is able to rush you into his bathroom before you puke up everything in your stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys im sick and idk what my schedule's like tomorrow so im posting this up a little early! I hope everyone has a happy new year and I'll be putting the next chapter up within a few days! ...with some karkat and kanaya fluff that we really need, honestly, right, like it's irritating me at this point
> 
> please forgive me for anything that sounds weird or i might have missed while proofing this chapter, as i said i have a gross cold and i may not be the best judge rn!


	15. I'm so sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat and Kanaya have a much-needed feelings jam

Kanaya picks you up. Thankfully Dave had an extra toothbrush you could use to clean your stank mouth. A drop of water falls off your hair. 

“I’m very grateful to Dave for letting you use his shower, Dear,” Kanaya jokes. It doesn’t make you feel any better. She sounds so tense despite the joke. Like there’s a line of script she’d missed, and her character is being booted off the show.

It’s quiet in the car after that. She can tell that something is wrong with you two, but she doesn’t know what it is. She just knows that you’re in a bad way and not even talking to her about it. 

As her car pulls up into her usual guest spot in your complex, she asks you a question that’s loaded with expectation. It’s pretty calm, but under that exterior Kanaya is visibly worried, and her words are more stilted than usual.

“Why did this happen?” By ‘this’ of course, she means why did you text her hungover this morning. Why did Dave text her this morning saying that you were messed up last night, and she should come pick you up later after you’d woken up. 

You have your eyes closed, now, against the glare of the sun. “Can we talk when we get inside?” You request. 

Kanaya tenses even more than she already is. The leather on the steering wheel creaks against the internal plastic, and you wince. It might as well be breaking glass, with how guilty you’re feeling. The hangover, the headache, the THING with Dave that you don’t know how to talk about. The fact that you’ve been practically cheating on Kanaya out of not wanting to trouble her and her matespritship.

It’s silent without the grind of the road under the wheels of the car. 

“Would you like to come in for tea?” You ask. Kanaya nods, you think you see out of the corner of your eyes when you open the lids just a bit. Oh thank God. 

Kanaya, thankfully, heads directly into the kitchen to make her own cup when you get inside. You lock the door and plunk your awful self down on the sofa. A pillow nearby gets sucked into your arms. 

After a long five minutes in the kitchen preparing herself some hot tea, Kanaya comes back into the living room and sits next to you.

“So, Karkat?”

“So.”

You’re suffocating in here. Kanaya is quiet, and her teacup rattles on the saucer in a rare lack of composure as she sets it down on the table. 

“Karkat, what do you have to tell me?” 

You start at your name, and close your eyes again. “I…”

Kanaya stays quiet, waiting. 

“I’m sorry.”

Kanaya goes still as the dead at your apology.

“Sorry for what, dear?”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been completely forthcoming with you,” you almost whisper the confession into the pillow. That you’ve been keeping things from her. You want to keep this from her. She hears you anyway. 

Almost as quietly, she mumbles, “Did I do something wrong?”

It’s heartbreaking, and you scoot a toe across the cushion to rest against her beskirted thigh. Kanaya is always composed. She’s always together in ways you aren’t, beautiful and deadly. She is the best moirail anyone could ask for, and now? You’ve reduced her to meek, scared.

“You didn’t,” you reassure her softly, and open your eyes to stare at her from halfway behind the pillow.

She relaxes at that. “Then what?”

“I… didn’t want to bother you with my problems. You seemed so happy in your relationship with Rose. It was so fresh and new.”

Kanaya seems relieved for a moment, when she hears how much you care for her. It’s fleeting, however, and soon her face is filling with horror. A storm overtakes the placid expression.

“I… I didn’t notice. I was too distracted by my matesprit and I neglected you,” Kanaya realizes out loud. She sounds so close to tears that you throw your pillow away from you and move forward. You slip almost into her lap as your arms wind around her. 

“I kept it all from you, it’s my fault,” you try to soothe. You can feel her shaking a little bit more, breathing erratic. God oh God why did you make the decisions you did. 

She calms almost as soon as you tuck your face into her shoulder, and her long arms come up to wrap around you as well. She smells so good.

Some explanation involving troll pheromones, probably, could explain why you’re both soon dissuaded from further panic. You sit there for maybe ten more minutes, just breathing near each other and hugging, before Kanaya pulls you up and out of the couch toward your pile in your bedroom. She deposits you into the pile, pulls the blinds shut, and commands you to tell her everything. 

“I’m so sorry for my issues with quadrants, firstly,” you explain, and she quiets you before curling your much shorter form into her own. 

You continue after she makes some troll noises, a few chirring clicks. Dave once told you that moirail noises remind you of cats purring at each other, and small birds. Whatever. Humans are weird too. Their moans sound really fucking stupid.

Speaking of Dave, you continue your explanation as a purr of your own starts rolling in your chest. “I’ve been relying on Dave for pale attention.”

“It’s okay,” she soothes. “You were stressed out, I wasn’t paying attention, and you came to me now. I forgive you.”

It’s all you needed to open up your internal floodgates. Being forgiven feels so _good _.__

__It opens the levies, and you spill everything._ _

__You start with your conflict with your father against his preferred doctrine. You tell her about your mother’s death at a young age, and growing up with a father that was more than a little broken and trying to juggle everything alone. How he was depressed, and turned more completely to the church to occupy his thoughts and show him the way._ _

__You tell Kanaya about how you and your father had fought years ago, now. She already knows about this, but it happened when Gamzee was still your moirail. It was at the end of that, though. Now you’re telling Kanaya about how Gamzee had, before the incident, gotten into a habit of letting you pap him out of rages and redirecting attention toward himself. He had known that it made you happy to help him and take care of him, and just let it happen._ _

__He’d been so settled into the habit, though, that he didn’t actually comfort you well when you fought with your father, and you’d ended up just making everything worse. She doesn’t talk about Gamzee and how terrible he is. She knows how much you still love him._ _

__Her hand starts carding through your hair as you tell her about your fight with your father before Christmas, the tension surrounding the entire holiday season._ _

__“I didn’t know you fought, I just thought you wanted to spend time with Dave,” she defends herself, and you choose to ignore that Dave bit in the middle of the apology. Now is not a moment to get distracted about your feelings for Dave that you might begrudgingly have to admit exist._ _

__Christmas without your family was awful in the context, with neither your brother nor father talking to you, and you restart on that._ _

__Kanaya interrupts you again, though, this time visibly more distressed. “I thought you were tense because of Dave being there all the time! And John! You had never met him before and he was suddenly there in the middle of you and Dave!”_ _

__You hurry to smooth some fingers down her temples and neck before she can get too worked up._ _

__You talk about coming home after Christmas, and going to see your father, and how that was of course the night before. You tell her about making up with him, and everything that happened there. She looks proud of you, but you need to apologize more formally._ _

__“I really missed you, Kanaya, and I guess my red affections for Dave led me to him. I didn’t want to bother you, however fucking weak of an excuse that is.”_ _

__Kanaya smiles, and pushes her face forward to push a kiss between your eyes. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Karkat. I’m so sorry.”_ _

__“It’s okay. I’m okay now.”_ _

__And it was the truth, miraculously. You just hold her tighter. Being held feels so good. Everything is going to be okay now._ _

__Five minutes later._ _

__“Now, dear. We are taking a break from out ‘feelings jam’. But right after this break, we are talking about Dave. And this thing you’re trying to ignore.” Kanaya is using the tone that means she won’t be swayed._ _

__Hearing her settle back into a more normal moirail role is so comforting you don’t know what to do._ _

__“Yes, _mom,_ ” you say, exaggerated. _ _

__Kanaya giggles. Success._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-o! Was going to make this a bonus ficlet like the last one, but I figured I might as well just put it here mid-week for extra pizzaz. Anyway! karkat and kanaya sort their shit because honestly it was making everything kinda tense!


	16. On this dark day, right in plain view

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> karkat hangs out with sollux and his girls. guess where!

“Dave, stop!” You’re laughing, his hands are on the waist of your pants. Thumbs dig into your hips, and the mood shifts, becomes serious. His lips stop tickling your neck with raspberries, and you can feel it as he pants, then tongues your throat.

“Rez was right… cherries,” he says against your skin. Hands grip tighter on you, and you take a leap and push your knee between his thighs to give him something to not think about. Dragging your leg against his crotch and hearing him whine gives you a heady feeling in your brain. His fingers are just dragging down into your boxers as your bulge unsheathes the tip of itself.

This is gonna be so fucking good with the antici-

Sollux shakes you awake. This dream shit has GOT to STOP. PLEASE. 

You thought you were done with this crap before Christmas!

When the fuck did he get a key?

“You need to get out of your houthe, KK.”

As a response you pull your covers over your head. 

Kanaya had come by earlier (to try and get you to go out) before your nap; she brings Rose sometimes, but she’s been coming by and hanging out more recently. Maybe it’s because Dave stopped wanting to hang out with you as much? Fuck him, you get more time with your moirail out of it, so it doesn’t matter. 

Speaking of your moirail, you two had been needing more time together lately. 

Oh yeah, you still spend time with Dave. But it’s not near as much as it used to be. Before… everything. He has been busy, too, with work. He got a little popular on whatever ‘website’ or whatever he uses for music, and since then he’s been working on putting out more songs. He also quit his other two clubs entirely, even though he’s apparently been working them a lot more lately than he used to (when you two first met).

The troll club lets him play a lot of his own music, you know. That’s why he kept that one, instead of one of the human clubs. The two of you had a conversation about the subject when you were first getting to know each other. You had been curious about his job, rightfully, and he had been more than enthusiastic to tell you about it and his entire lengthy lifetime of music development.

Honestly, you tuned his rambling out after about… twenty minutes? You had been thinking about a very troubling project at work instead.

So, you had tuned Dave out, but one of the things you do remember hearing him talk about was how he’d gone from very extreme, heavy beats, raps and speedy changes into a more organic type of music and now into EDM. He still raps as well, you know, but for some reason doesn’t take it as seriously as he used to. He’d mentioned a catalyst for his musical change in there, and you didn’t ask. 

Anyway, all of that memory is going through your head, and you hope Sollux doesn’t notice the fact that you’ve been sadly listening to music that sounds like Dave’s, without getting him page views from you. Not that him getting page views from you was a bad thing! But you’re not even sure why you have an inexplicable need to listen to Dave’s music.

Not like you miss him or anything.

Not spending time with Dave sucks more than you thought it would. 

“Stop moping about your thtupid human and get up, KK. We are going. Out.”

It’s getting hot in here with the blanket sealed over your head, but you can’t leave yet. 

“No!”

Cold air assaults your ankles first, and then the rest of you, as Sollux yanks off the blanket. 

“Fuck you!”

“No thankth, I have two matethpritth.”

“AAAUGH.”

“There we go. Now let’th get you up and in some clean clotheth. Thank god KN made you bathe earlier, I can thmell the thhampoo. I know thothe IT guyth at work don’t care what you thmell like but god have thome dignity.”

You really don’t want to get out of bed, but you remember that Dave will be at work tonight. Will you see him there? You’re honestly not the clubbing type, okay, but ever since you made friends with Dave, you’ve tripled the amount of times you’ve been to the club in your whole life.

You get up to head into your en-suite and get some fresh clothes on that don’t have crumbs or… mostly dried liquids on them that you would rather not talk about. 

When you get back, wearing the same outfit you’d had on last time just you and Sollux went out, he has the window open and is sitting on the sill, lighting a bowl. 

You sigh, but take it when he passes it to you. After a drag, you try to hand it back. He won’t take it back. You frown, he gestures for you to finish it. 

You haven’t smoked since Gamzee, really, so you cough. 

As the glass finds your lips again, he shuffles his jacket back on. “You need it more than me. So tenthe.” He wiggles his spindly little hacker fingers at you. God, how had you ever considered this nutcase quadrant material?

Oh wait, it’s because you have so few acquaintances that you project your feelings onto all of them. 

Wow, you really are tense. The self-loathing is usually a little more buried. You’re not a fucking teenager anymore, after all. You’d like to think you’ve chilled out since then. 

“FUCK you, Sollux.”

“Like I thaid earlier KK.”

Sollux swings by his apartment to pick up Aradia and Feferi on the way to the club. They agreed to go out with the stipulation that you would dance with them, they say. Not that you believe that for a second, but everyone likes Feferi, and Aradia is nice with the whole rust-and-red thing.

You’re feeling pretty relaxed, okay, by the time you three get to Teeth (why do you come to this goddamn club so much). The girls and Sollux get shots, but you decline them, and then the three of them pull you to the dance floor. 

Generally you have a good time. That sounds a bit blasé, but you do. Generally. Have a good time. You’re glad they yanked you out of your sad bed, and Feferi is very good at dancing. She loves dancing with you, and you have no idea why, because you’re essentially shit at it but she claims that you have a very good sense of rhythm. 

Dave is, in fact, working, you notice with at least some aplomb, and at some point you pass the booth while circling around for the bathroom and wave at him. He high fives you from the air, and you slap the air right back. It almost feels natural.

Like a mouse, your heart races when Dave keeps staring. The music changes candor, vamping up into something more jumpy and rough for a few seconds before settling back down. It sounds like he’s talking about you with that, and you flip him off as you walk away.

After the bathroom break, you dance back into Feferi’s bubble, who passes you off to Aradia, who spends about two minutes on you before pushing you into Sollux and saying she wants to grind on her kismesis. 

Not about to deny her, you move into Sollux with an old, practiced, but awkward set of steps. He snorts and grabs at your hips. 

It’s like fucking clockwork that the fingers in your hipbones mirror the dream you had, and make you twitch away for a hot few beats while you try to catch your breath. Sollux gives you a look like something fucking weird must be going on, KK, and moves you forward into him. 

Trolls dance kind of weird, according to Dave. He referenced posturing and scorpion mating dances, but you know he was joking. Mostly, he said, mostly. But he did seem serious about the fact that trolls dance strangely. ‘It’s the wiggling and the winding, dude,’ he claimed. He probably just thinks he’s an authority because he’s done human clubs too. There’s not much difference, though, by the movies you’ve seen.

Feferi and Aradia are doing something similar, but it’s more violent, closer. The space between their bodies doesn’t exist anymore, should be wrinkling the fabric of time, as they dance like their quadrant dictates. Feet planted firmer on the ground, nails digging harshly into each other’s shoulders and waists as they battle for dominance and the lead.

You can still smell the pot on Sollux’s breath, and feel yourself coming down from the high. The music changes completely, and you wonder if Dave got in trouble for that bit of snark toward you. That is, you wonder about it until Sollux rolls his body with yours, effectively bringing you back to the present. A glassy rattling comes from his chest, and you let your hands hang to the side and move with the sinuous motion. Sollux isn’t the best, as you think you’ve said before. But he’s basic, solid. 

You might be coming down, but you’re still high enough to feel the smooth trance roll down your spine. This really doesn’t sound like Dave’s stuff.

“For good reason,” Dave says behind you, then, and Sollux takes his face away from where he was pushing you cheek-to-cheek. 

“Oh. Thtrider.”

“Captor.”

“I’ll…” Sollux glances at you, back at Dave, back at you with some kind of grin, and detaches his claws from your shirt edge. You give him a searching, begging look. He moves away, walking toward his matesprits. “I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

“Fuck you, Sollux,” you reply, flipping him off.

“KK. Like I thaid.”

It’s hard not to glare at him.

Dave, by contrast, looks impressed as Sollux easily slips between the two female trolls and sinks easily into their embrace.

You look at Dave, see that he’s holding a bunch of his mixing stuff, and walk off the dance floor. 

He follows you, as he should. 

“It’s fucking great to see you here, man, it’s been so long.”

You barely fucking heard that. Grabbing his collar, you pull him in. “What?” You shout. 

Regret and excitement fill you as Dave leans into your face. Hot breath goes across the pointed shell of your ear as he says something you only catch half of, due to your heart suddenly pounding in your skull, about going somewhere to get some fresh air.

It sounds like a fucking brilliant idea, especially since you’re almost completely back on the ground from the pot earlier, so you reply some kind of affirmative and he pulls you through some hallways and out a back door. The gold headband keeping Dave’s wiry hair back on his head has olive branches painted on it. Kanaya would love it. Who the hell bought it for him? The rhinestones glint in the black and white lights of the club as the door shuts, and you let your eyes sink to his glasses instead.

There are steps here, and you sit on the top one next to Dave. The air is blissfully cool, and you can feel sweat drying on your forehead. Sweat you hadn’t even considered the presence of under all those dim lights. 

“I only worked a short shift tonight before Ruf and Tav came up.”

What is he talking about? Oh, why he’s sitting here. Ruf and Tav? Are those the trolls who did the music at his party? You wish you had some water, or maybe a drink. Thighs are touching each other between you two, and every time he shifts you just barely manage not to jump halfway out of your skin.

His shirt rides up as he stretches his arms, and you catch yourself thinking about how that skin would feel under your fingertips. 

But…

Your mounting self-hatred aside, and the idea that it would be impossible for him to even think of you like that (as well) dashed… you still want to be his friend. And would rather be his friend than ruin it by doing something stupid.

Thought (of skin) caught, and released. Into the wild. To live with the buffalo or something. The dream last night, then the dreams before that, the kiss on Christmas, the kiss on New Years, waking up to see his shining jesus-shat-on-a-doughboy-face making the most wonderful iteration of a dopey smile, the fucking back rubs, all of it. All of that shit. Out to live with the buffalo. 

In fact, your thoughts are so far gone by now, that you don’t even notice Dave fishing your phone out of your back pocket. 

He then holds the phone hostage. 

Ohhhhh, fuck you, Dave.

\--

You’re holding his phone. Why? You aren’t really all that sure. It caught your eye and you took it, like impulse-buying a 500-gallon fish tank that just happens to be on sale. Meaning you’ll only realize you regret it when your significant other comes home to see it on the table.

Something about Sollux holding Karkat so close made you really… queasy. You know trolls get way all up on each other when they boogie, but maybe you were just jealous that he could be that close to Karkat and you couldn’t. Karkat had been practically grabbing Sollux’s horns when you got to them, looking focused and relaxed in a way you had only ever managed once or twice. That you can remember. 

So much stupid jealousy.

Naturally the only thing to do once you two are alone is immature tactics at grabbing his attention. You started by waving a hand in front of his face, and then you tried making various animal noises. Then you tried grabbing his phone, and that seemed to be the clincher. 

Once you have his full attention, though, what are you supposed to do with it? Well, lil’ Dave knows what it wants with your friend’s full attention, but maybe that’s not what _you_ want right now. Obviously, he wants his phone back and is trying everything short of clawing you to achieve his goal. 

“Give it back! What the fuck, Dave, are you FIVE?”

“Nah bro, but don’t worry about it, I can give you a ride home when your friend leaves with his girlfriends after you don’t answer your texts.”

“That doesn’t answer my demand, Dave!”

Yeah, you really don’t know what to do with all of his attention. Laser-focused on you like you tend to be on him, for once, and brimming with a kind of frustration you only let yourself think about when you’re in the shower. 

Holding the phone up and out of reach, you manage to punch in his password and open facebook.

“I… am… a wiener.” You say aloud as you write, and enter the status.

“Give me… my…” You’ve stood up now, and are reaching up to hold the flat object away from where he can get it.

“Karkat is… a lame… piece of doodoo.” That one was a masterpiece. With a selfie.

“Dave! Give me my fucking phone back before you drop it!”

“What will you do for it?” You think to ask. It’s brilliant. Imagination going wild, you think of all the embarrassment fodder you’ll have if he says what you think he will.

“Anything!” He almost yells, and. Bingo.

“Take your shirt off and do the chicken dance at the crosswalk while singing the Rugrats theme song.” 

Well, that’s what you meant to say. 

Unfortunately, that’s not what came out.

“Kiss. On the mouth. Five minutes.”

Oh god.

His arm is around your shoulder, reaching past your head and behind you, when he stills like he’s been shot with a freeze ray. 

“Excuse me?” He asks, quietly. He sounds almost… afraid?

This is your chance to take it all back, to change your mind and say you were joking. You can salvage the best friendship you’ve made in a while, it’s all good. Okay, time to execute operation: retract – 

“You heard me.” That was NOT the plan, Dave’s brain. Or was it Dave’s dick that said that?

A chill wind blows and you can feel it through your jeans on your knees before he’s surging up to you. 

“Okay,” he says, obviously dripping anxiety. 

“What, really?” You manage before he’s running with it like wildfire in a polyester factory. 

He kisses you on an exhale, and your cinnamon breath glances off his cheek before you smell the sweet smoke on his.

He doesn’t move for what feels like hours, and you think he’s surprised at his own actions, until his arm wraps firmly around your neck and the other slithers into the open front of your coat. 

Karkat kisses like you’re something breakable. Which you probably are, if troll strength is as formidable as you’ve heard. When you tilt your chin for an easier angle, though, he makes this little noise. The situation changes tone and you’re being pushed pretty hard against the rail on the edge of the steps. 

Now you both move like you’re running out of air, and the other person is an oxygen tank. It feels so right, it feels so natural, when you open your mouth to pull in his lip, and he shoves his tongue practically down your throat. _Nice trick_ , you have to admit, when he scratches his nails up your side and runs the muscle across the roof of your mouth. 

Sucking his tongue straight into your mouth is the next logical step, you think, so you do it as your fingers find purchase rucking up his t shirt under his jacket. 

It feels like hours later that you pull away, panting. His eyes are mostly closed when you open yours, glazed over and hot with want as your teeth leave his lip. You breathe against his mouth. 

Oh hell.

“Longer than five minutes, Dave,” Karkat says, and you love how the vowels in your name sound so drawn out in his voice, and how the bare subtlety of his accent yanks the “v” back for a second chance. 

You reach down and pick up his phone, place it in his hands. 

“Guess I won’t be taking it anytime soon, then.”

“Guess not.”

You don’t see want to see Karkat again for a month. You keep yourself busy. 

What the fuck have you done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry im posting this in the dead of night, but im going on a trip starting tomorrow and won't be able to post up later in the day :) hope y'all enjoy it
> 
> my editing isn't the best rn because im still sick, but i hope you all forgive me for anything especially awful i might have missed >~>!
> 
> edit: forgot to add chapter title! ha!


	17. CHAPTER 17: SOME BONUS MEMORIES ABOUT MOMS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of a couple different little background stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!! So, I couldn’t quite think of something good enough to make for a 150-170 kudos marker on this fic! I swear I was going to ^_^;; I still have something for 200, haha. But I got a mad urge to write some sad so im sorry in advance! (I also wanted to give you guys some digestion time before the next chapter) Also! Karkat’s mom is an OC, this is the only time she’ll show up. Anyways! Hope this isn’t too long for you fellas!
> 
> WARNING TAGS: child abuse, death, cancer, children coping

PART 1

“Karkat, sweetie, come to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You climb up onto the bed. Mami’s arms curl around you as you push your forehead into her chest. No, you haven’t been crying today, you’re a big boy. The other trolls weren’t picking on you at school today, so it’s not that. Kankri didn’t try to boss you around much today, so it’s not that. Cookies and milk were very rightfully given to you after your nap today, so it’s not that you’re hungry. 

But papi told you something earlier that couldn’t possibly be true because why would mami go? She always said she would never leave when you are upset but if she leaves then how can she keep her promise? Promises are important, you’ve always thought.

-

He showed you and Kankri a big x-ray with a lot of black and white on it, and pointed at a weird faded blob on the right side. Kankri started crying but you didn’t because why would you cry at a picture? You’re confused and you look around, trying to see why Kankri would be crying. Papi held up the picture, a little closer to you, and flat in his hand. He asked if you understood. 

Kankri nodded, and left the room. His face must be itchy cause he sure is scratching it a lot.

You thought, it must be a drawing, because papi is always telling you how much he loves your drawings. “I love it very much,” you told him. He was not proud of his drawing, though, he frowned and his eyes turned red. Well, redder. The middle is already red like mami tells you that yours will be some day. Her eyes and blood are blue. You wish yours were, because then you wouldn’t get bullied when you scraped your knee at preschool.

Papi wasn’t frowning anymore, but he was crying. You ran to get a tissue and pat his tears away, and he put down his drawing. He hugged you, and then told you something awful. He called it ‘cancer’ and said that it meant mami would be going away soon, forever. You said no, mami always promised she would be there for you, and whoever ‘cancer’ was wouldn’t change that.

He insisted. He said it would be hard for a while after Paloma (you know he means mami) left but it would get better.

You ran away at that point, and straight to mami to ask if it was true. 

-

She kisses your forehead, right between your bushy eyebrows, and hums a little. “Are you going to tell me?” She asks. Soft, and warm, and good. Mami always smells so good. Opera is playing in the background. Opera is your favorite kind of music, you think, because she told you the name and that most of the songs are about love. 

“Papi told me a lie today,” you explain, and look at her fiercely. 

She smiles, and adjusts the wrap on her head. You know she used to have hair there, but that the wrap is her hair now. Everyone knows. Mami said the hair would grow back soon. “Oh? And what did papi tell you?”

Mami’s fingers in your hair push your head against her soft chest and you relax and rest it there. 

“He told me that you were going away,” you answer. You clench your fists so hard that your claws dig into your palms. Mami sees this, tsks, and opens your hands. You lean back against her, moving to sit across her lap. You can’t see mami’s face but that’s okay. Her warmth is all around you, anyway. And she’s holding your palms open and making sure you didn’t hurt yourself. 

You continue. “I know that’s not true though because you said you’d always be here. Right?”

Mami is quiet for a long time. Her hands cover yours, and move them to rest on your belly. She taps the joined fingers, there, in the center of your belly button. 

“Mami?”

“Well, cariño…” She trails off, and the room feels very tired. “Papi was telling the truth. I’m going to go away soon for a long time.”

Panicked, you turn in her lap. She makes room for you, and hitches her blankets back up when you end up pushing some of them around. “What?!” You ask. But she promised. Right?

“I’m sorry I have to break my promise.” Mami looks so sad. “You’re going to miss me, a lot. Mami will be waiting for you when the time comes, though.” 

Something about the way she says it makes you know that it’s the truth. Everything is suddenly wrong. Very wrong. The door to the bedroom creaks, and Kankri comes in. He’s a real big kid, so he only comes over and stands next to the bed. Papi stays in the doorway. 

It feels very wrong in this room, and you don’t know why. Mami pulls Kankri up to sit next to you. She has to cough a lot before she feels good enough to hug you both at the same time. It’s so warm and soft but you notice how much her hands are shaking, now. Kankri sniffles against mami but you just frown. 

“God wants to see me sooner than planned, mijos. I’m sorry.” Papi makes a noise from the doorway and the bed sinks down behind you. His big hand places itself on your back, and now you can feel how warm he is, too. Mami coughs. 

“God doesn’t even need a mami,” you say. 

“Yes, but God loves having new friends to talk with,” she replies, and sighs. She… she’s going to be gone. Mami will be leaving. But maybe… she said she would see you again soon. 

“When are you coming back?” You ask.

Kankri bristles, and papi’s hand on your back stills. 

“He still doesn’t get it, Paloma,” papi says. 

“I’m not going to come back, cariño.” Mami sounds like she’s crying again. 

You start crying. Why wouldn’t mami come back? It’s fine if she’s not here for awhile but never coming back? That’s too unfair! God needs to play by some rules! “No!” you yell into her chest. “No!” All that time in the hospital was supposed to make her better! She came home because she’s better and the noisy machines they gave her are supposed to be making her better so she can play with you!

“It’s the way it has to be, Karkat,” Papi says, and Kankri starts shaking next to you. 

Mami dies two weeks later. You have to wear an itchy suit. Kankri holds your hand.

 

 

PART 2

The Day You Left Houston is a day just like any other. A rocky strife to wake up, a two mile run, a jump to the side to avoid the swords so you could get the milk for your cereal. There’s one major difference, though. You’re on your way home and there’s a goddamn report card in your hand. A report card that said that you got all A’s.

The piece of paper is stupid, but it’s making you feel a little… light. ‘Anyone would be proud of you for that,’ your teacher had said right before you left the school. You really wanna message John about it. Maybe if you talk to him about this he’ll congratulate you. And maybe he’ll stop asking if you’re okay and if Bro’s done anything today. 

When you get there, the apartment is hazy after all those stairs. There’s a mostly naked woman you don’t recognize on the couch, with a sweet-smelling cigarette in her hand and a glaze on her eyes. There are two and a half lines of coke on the table. Bro is sitting next to her, and narrows his brow when you look at him, report card held slightly aloft in one hand, like the worst fucking aborted motion for acknowledgement. 

So you go to your room. You open a window and pesterchum, put on some rap to drown out all other sounds, and listen while you do homework and chat with John. There’s leftover juice in your room, so you’re not thirsty. A while passes and you get hungry, hungry for something other than snacks. Maybe Bro went to the store today, and there’ll be real food in the kitchen. 

It must be the high from the report card or something that pushes you to take that step out into the hall and go toward the front of the apartment. When you pass by the living room, you notice that the white is gone from the table, and so is the woman. The front door is cracked open, and you can hear giggling, so Bro must be saying goodbye or whatever the fuck he does. 

You end up not finding much of anything and make some Mac n Cheese. You don’t hear the door. You don’t hear anything, really, once the ringing in your ears starts, and you’re on the floor with a tiny bit of blood dripping from your mouth.

“The fuck are you doing eating my Mac, kid?” Bro says. His eyes are crazy, pupils blown from the drugs and wildly wide. Why didn’t you stay in your room. 

“I was hungry,” you answer, holding your face.

And bro helps you up. And then helps you down again. 

-

Out on the roof, Aunt Lalonde finds you. Her hands feel really nice, and she’s yelling. Bro is yelling. You can’t really see out of one eye, so you fall asleep out there.

-

This house is too big.

“You can…” Aunt Lalonde sits in front of you at the breakfast table. Which is a stupid name, by the way, since you’re eating a late lunch at it. It’s been three months since she The Day You Left Houston. “You can call me mom… if you want. If you want one, dear. Since your cousins do.”

You shove your hands further down into your dull, ratty hoodie and worry at the unseen sleeve-ends. She smiles at you when you glance up. John’s shades perch on your nose and nicely hide your eyes. Or you hope they do. You can’t take her smile very well yet. Too many teeth. Shuttering even further, you nod at her, stiffly. 

Running to your room hasn’t been an option for most of your life, so you don’t. It hurts. You force yourself to finish the last of your food even though you’re full. You get up. You disgust yourself. You make an excuse about homework for the new school. You go to your room. 

Aunt Lalonde tries to buy new clothes for you, and new shoes. You don’t wear most of it, and it sits in neat stacks in the closet. Of course with neatly and stealthily stolen dryer sheets between them so that they don’t start to smell musty. You have all of your old things, anyway. Aunt Lalonde got them right after taking you away. She also takes you to a court-ordered therapist once a week. The therapist just talks to you. Like John. It’s weird.

It’s also weird having family. You didn’t know you had family, or what family even means, really. 

-

Rose is fine to spend time around, but she has a lot of extracurricular activities and likes to tell you a lot about your psychological profile. So maybe she’s not fine to spend time around, but at least she’s quiet and moves slowly. And she’s your age, and very smart. The two of you play chess sometimes, and the focus on strategy gets your mind off of things for a bit.

You like Roxy, too, except with how she sometimes closes doors too hard in their jambs. Roxy visits sometimes, when she has a couple days off work and ‘wants to take a nice bath for once in a nice bathtub.’ This girl is almost a copy of your cousin, Rose, but older and less full-figured, and light-skinned. She has an old truck that she likes talking about replacing with a new-fangled one. She has a soft voice and hands, and offers to cut your hair. 

-

You meet your half brother. Someone knocks on your door, and it takes you about five minutes to decide to open it. Whoever it is knocks again, a little less insistently. You think it might be Aunt Lalonde, and she’s been nothing but nice to you. So of course you eventually decide to go and open it. Also of course, it’s a young man that’s almost identical to Bro in everything but skin color. It’s all you can do not to slam the door in his face, and it makes you freeze up faster than Antarctica.

There’s a space to escape behind you, window onto the roof, under his arm to your left, down the stairs. You don’t have your sword why don’t you have your sword. He’s talking. His shades have a little orange light right in the top left corner, and you’re almost distracted by it too much to notice him talking. 

“… got back from visiting my friend in Hawaii, you’d like his little cousin. Real firecracker. Wanted to come up and say hello, introduce myself up front since we’re brothers and all and I’m usually at school.” You say nothing, and the mention of brothers makes you feel like it’s all a trick. Is this Bro? Is he back to get you and take you home? Is he going to hit you? Why isn’t he hitting you? 

He continues. “I’m Dirk.”

You straighten up as best as possible, with his greater height. “Dave,” you reply. Your feet brace you for impact. 

No impact comes, though, and Dirk keeps looking at you. Oddly. Like he thinks he knows what’s going on but not sure. You’re a pro at reading facial expressions behind shades by now. 

“Not gonna beat around the bush, kid,” he says eventually. “I’m glad you’re here with us. Away from that fucking maniac with the hat whose old pictures look like me? Bro’s a real piece of work. I bet you never even met Dad, the deadbeat.”

This sudden switch to Dirk talking about your brother and father gives you mental whiplash, and you feel like you’re going to throw up. How dare he… how dare this man, this Dirk… how dare he. 

“Shut up.” The words, even coming out of your own mouth, catch you off guard. 

“Pardon?” Dirk asks. He’s a little surprised himself. Your fists clench. 

“You can’t talk about Bro.” Your voice raises with every word. “Don’t talk about him like you know him!”

Dirk’s hands are up in a universal symbol of surrender, but you get right up close to him anyway, and hiss in his face. “He took care of me! Dad’ll come back one day and Bro. When he didn’t have to he took care of me and you HAVE NO RIGHT TO TALK ABOUT BRO!”

The words don’t feel true, though. The ratty red hoodie and the worn-out jeans and the memory of hunger in your belly are a sharp contrast to how you want to defend Bro. The guilt on Dirk’s face feels bad, too, and you can’t hold it in anymore. You slam the door in his face. Of course you immediately have a visceral fear reaction to what you’ve done, and you sit on the floor and brace yourself against it in case someone comes to break it down again. 

No one comes to break down the door, though. 

No one comes to hurt you for getting mad. 

What are you supposed to do with that? 

-

Aunt Lalonde finds you sneaking extra juice boxes and chips and keeping them in your closet. She doesn’t yell at you, but tells you that she can get you a mini fridge. This makes you feel odd. Guiltier, somehow, but also grateful and relaxed. 

“Juice does taste better cold,” you offer. 

“Yes, I agree,” Aunt Lalonde says. “Just let me know, alright?”

It takes you a second to stop feeling a phantom punch on the face. But she didn’t hit you. No one hit you. No one is going to hit you for taking snacks and juice anymore, you realize. It takes you a long time to respond.

“Alright.” You start to walk away after handing over half the juice boxes. 

“And Dave?” She calls. You turn around. “Write it on the grocery list so I can get some just for you the next time I go to the store.”

You stop hoarding snacks as much after that. You still keep some, because you never know. But… Aunt Lalonde doesn’t seem to mind as all. 

-

Five months after moving in, and you’re starting to settle in here more. You scream at Dirk in front of everyone when he pours out half a bowl of cereal. You don’t know where it came from. It’s such a waste and he’s doing nothing but standing there, staring! Aunt Lalonde takes you aside and tells you that screaming isn’t appropriate in the house. Dirk very gently puts a hand on one of your shoulders later, and tells you it’s okay. 

Aunt Lalonde, a couple months later, asks if you want to invite John over to ‘hang out.’ It’s the summer, now. You’d told her about John because she asked about your friends. 

“But he lives in Washington,” you say, leaned back with your feet up on your desk. 

“It’s the summer! I can pay for his fare and everything if he needs it. He can come enjoy the pool with you and Roxy and Dirk!” She’s smiling so much, so warmly. 

“Okay,” you say. She looks so happy. 

“Any friend of yours is always welcome here, love!” Love… huh.

John comes down from Washington.

He’s shorter than you imagined over the internet, and he’s loud and pulls pranks, but it doesn’t hurt you. John would never hurt you. You hug him so tight he laughs uncomfortably, but hugs you back. His dad pats you on the back, and it doesn’t even affect you with John here in the room. Dadbert stays in the house, as well. 

When John leaves after a long week of some of the first actual fun you’ve had in awhile, you walk him to his terminal. Aunt Lalonde says that they should come back soon, or maybe even just John, and they’ll always be welcome. 

You hug him again before he leaves, and John laughs and calls you shitty names. He hugs you back, though. 

Soon it’s just you and your Aunt, walking out to the car. 

“Thanks… mom,” you mumble. Maybe she won’t hear it. 

She does, though. And it’s fine. 

She looks like she’s going to cry, and you think for a minute that you’ve done something very wrong. Naturally you start to freak a little, until she gets down on her knees and holds her arms out for a hug.

You’re not fucking five, okay? But you hold her anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey-o! so! I hope you guys don't hate me after all that unexpected bad shit, blahblahblah! I'm putting this chapter out a little early and might post the next one on either sunday or monday, depending. or I might wait another week! Anyways I had timing reasons as to why this came out before the next chapter, I wanted to draw it out after where Dave left off ;)
> 
> anyhoo! hope you enjoy, and if your school started up this week I'm sorry :P


	18. we're going to the goddamn aquarium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dave and karkat go to the aquarium and by golly if they don't just have a grand old time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> go read ch 17 if you haven't! I posted two this week just for you guys!

What the fuck have you done??

Dave (the quadrant-flipping motherfucker) challenged you for a kiss and he was totally kidding, right? Like, you’ve ruined everything, most likely. He’s been avoiding you and you’ve been avoiding him. For weeks. Multiple. You thought about him a lot on Valentine’s Day. 

You’re alone in your apartment, doing some cleaning because it seems like the only thing you can control in your life sometimes, when some pretty frantic knocking comes at your door. 

It’s Dave at your stoop for the first time in those multiple weeks.

A month? 

He bursts in, bringing a wave of early spring air with him. Detritus gets all over your small entryway again, and you want to scream at him. You just fucking finished sweeping that shit up. Before you can start hitting him with your broom, though, he disarms you and covers your mouth with one of his hands. The fucking shades are blocking his eyes and you wish they weren’t because you have no idea what’s going on anymore. His eyes were so clear that morning in January. 

“Yeah we’re both at fault here but I’m fucking tired of it! So you know what?!”

You can’t answer the almost non-sequitur proclamation because of his palm over your lips. You settle for fuming silently and frowning your best hatred frown. 

“We’re going to the aquarium. I’m tired of this not talking shit.”

You pry his hand off of your face. It’s the first time you’ve heard him raise his voice since you’ve known him, so you’re also off guard and snap right back.

“They’re my fuckdamn tickets, Strider.”

“Yeah well it was my gift so we’re gonna go see the otters, how about that!”

“Fine!”

“Yeah! You bet your sweet ass it’s fine! Get some fucking shoes on and grab your keys and shit!”

“Fine!” 

The tickets get swept with your wallet into your hand, and then back pocket. You get your fucking phone and your fucking shoes and your goddamn jacket and go back out into the kitchen to unplug the fucking vacuum from the socket before you leave. 

The adrenaline from the sudden change of pace makes your face twist.

You and Dave are back to your old same comfortable argumentative rapport by the time you get to Dallas, in his same shitty car, and it feels normal again by the time you walk into the front doors of the aquarium. All the tension, and everything, finishes disappearing under excitement at the entrance. 

You’re more excited to be here than you want to let on.

It’s like, a giant building full of animals. Half of them in giant tanks of water.

There are kids here just about everywhere. But fuck those kids. 

You’re gonna press your nose to the glass.

You’re gonna kiss that fucking shark.

Dave, despite the fact that you’re not really focusing on him at all, seems to see that something’s up with how you’re acting when you stop in front of the manatee tank. With hands clenched in suppressed thrill, you stare down the giant gray blob just feet away. 

The useless sea cow is so… wonderful. It’s eating a head of lettuce, and the lettuce is covering its entire nose and eyes. What a dumb piece of shit. 

Dave gets really close to you. 

“You want me to take a picture of you next to it?” He asks.

Is it even a question?

Why didn’t you bring a head of lettuce so that you could match the sea cow?

“Please, Dave.”

Dave takes this as permission to take photos of you all day. He also takes pictures of you standing in front of a few fish tanks, in front of an exhibit with monkeys in it, making a face at him next to a sea of pink and orange flamingos, and in the shark tunnel. He says he wants to recreate this wedding photo he saw online where it looks like a shark is kissing the bride in a reflection. 

He ends up grumbling a lot when you refuse. You don’t care.

There are turtles to see.

The jaguar upstairs is where the two of you sit for a rest. The animal ends up coming over to the glass next to you and batting at your head. You hear the shutter of Dave’s phone camera when you bare your teeth at the large cat. 

Dave somehow manages to only allow you to do selfie-style pictures with him, no candids. How the fuck? He makes little happy noises when you go see the lizards. He fucking adores the crocodiles and you just barely keep him from rubbing his nose on the glass to see the bats closer. He’s so weird. He notes out loud to you which one of these exotic animals Egbert has, and you’re a little surprised. Dave says that the animal was a rescue and needs some special attention. Some kind of giant yellow salamander, or something? It sounds fake.

The oil spill part sounds true, though. Especially when Dave looks so sad.

You two pass the crowd at the otters, not before giving them a little high five on the window, and then. Oh, and then. 

There’s a touch tank. You’re almost out of your mind with happiness, for no apparent reason because it’s not like you’re a: a child or b: a marine biologist or enthusiast. But you get to touch a little swimming pancake and that makes your day. 

The two of you pass the jellyfish and a tank with little tiny seahorses, and you’re about to mention your slightly sore feet, when you see it. 

The mother. Fucking. Crab tank. Now, other tanks had some crabs in them, but this one? Just crabs. Stupid-looking, long legged, tan bellied, Japanese spider crabs. They’re bigger than half of you, and Dave has to finish his current monologue alone because these crabs are making you lose your shit. 

They look so _awesome_. 

Man, the last time you saw crabs this big a close up was…

Was…

Mom.

Mood: killed. Great job Vantas. You can’t even save yourself from you. 

There’s a bench just behind you that Dave is sitting on. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been looking at the weird arthropods, but it was long enough for him to sit down and settle with his elbows on his knees. 

You’re noticing your sore feet a lot more, now. But you don’t want to go home yet. You look back at the crabs, and sit yourself right down in front of the tank. 

\--

When Karkat plunks himself down on the bench next to you, he’s smiling a little funny. It’s not the kind of smile he’s had for a few things for the rest of this day, but something else. That cute little cracked smile with all of his pointy fangs is gone. Replaced with something close-mouthed. Something that’s looking into the past, and wanting to be in the present. 

Who are you kidding, you have no idea how to interpret this expression. You haven’t seen it before. Regret, wry joy, sadness, longing.

Why is Karkat so good at making you not know what to do? 

“Look at their super lame long legs, Karkat,” you try.

“They’re nerds. I love them,” he informs you. It’s a start. 

“That one’s looking like it’s wondering why you’re so glum right when it’s having lunch, dude. Lunch is probably its favorite time of day.”

Karkat looks up at you. There’s that flicker of annoyance; that little bit of a more familiar Karkat face before it seems to give up on itself. 

“I don’t want to make a long, drawn-out story right now, Dave, with you. The day has been so great,” he explains. 

You’re not having any of that, though. He sat here, next to you. You brought him here, to the aquarium. Those lips that are pulled into a frown right now - you really don’t need to be thinking about that. It’s the frown part that’s important right now, after he’s been practically grinning all day.

You hold your hands up, like you’re fielding the response. “Hit the crab with the explanation, man. It’s his lunch you’re interrupting.”

Karkat frowns at you again, and you can sense that his normal level of frustration with life has returned. Honestly, you feel a bit relieved. It’s easier for him to scold you about your lack of tact in order to get shit out. How do you know this? Idk. 

“The last time I was at an aquarium was with my dad, when I was five.” Oh, so this is about his dad? Again?

“Okay. How is he by the way?”

You’re careful not to offer comfort. Kanaya had talked to you about it, weeks and weeks ago, mentioned that she knew humans have a “Proclivity” for comforting others. She asked you to try to lay off in the future. In a kinder way than that, though. Kanaya’s pretty cool. Rose made a good choice. 

Right now, it seems like Karkat needs to get something off his chest. You’re prompting that. Being very careful to be as neutral as possible, here. In fact, if you’re careful, you could make this into… pity? Right? Ooh it feels so slimy to say it like that. But it’s the way trolls say they care about their flushed quadrants, right? You can still care without being pale. You want to care so much, all the time.

And with trolls, it’s like if you want to know sad or negative things about them… that means you want to pity them more, right? That’s probably not how it works but you’re definitely not trying to step over into his pale quadrant again. That doesn’t mean you can’t care, but you can’t comfort him… right? You can still get him to tell you what’s going on. Yeah. 

You realize the internal explanation may have gotten out of hand when Karkat clears his throat, like he’s going to begin.

Karkat settles into story-telling mode, something he does well.

“He’s fucking fantastic, actually, I saw him yesterday.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. Anyway, so that – the last time I went to the aquarium – was only a couple weeks before my mom died,” he continues. 

Wow. Uh. 

That was something you weren’t honestly expecting. You’re grateful he’s looking back at the crabs with something distant in his gaze. Your face is a stone wall as of his last reply, and he never takes that well anymore for whatever reason.

“…oh.” Well, that was very astute. You’re a fucking psychologist, forget Rose’s PhD. 

“Yeah,” he repeats. It holds a little more weight, now. Every word after that feels raspier on his tongue. Like charred wood. Old, petrified, dry, warm from sitting in the sun. 

Thank god he keeps talking. “It’s just poignant to remember. Everything changes when something like that happens. It didn’t even strike me till recently just how much things had changed back then, and that my dad was taking me to do something fun so that I could get my mind off of her and the stress. Stress I didn’t even understand yet.”

“What was it?” You gently ask. It helps to ask this, you know. From experience.

“Lung cancer,” he replies, and suddenly his handle is a lot more morbid. Everyone has different ways of coping, though. You’re not gonna judge at all.

“I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s okay now,” he says. It’s not okay, though. Stuff like this is never really… okay, even after almost twenty years. But he means that he’s the one that’s okay. The stress of being involved in that kind of situation at a major developmental point in your life, too. 

Shit. 

One of the spider crabs chows down on a hunk of dead fish. You point blankly to the tank, indicating it to your bench partner. He grins for real a little bit as the huge spindly nerd shoves bits into its mouth. 

Karkat talks first, again. “Yesterday was her birthday, actually.”

“… It’s good you spent it with your dad.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

You’re quiet for a minute like you’re both thinking. You figure it’s time to share more about yourself since Karkat’s been such an open book.

“When I was twelve, I was in a bit of a custody battle.”

It’s quiet enough in here that you hear a little intake of breath and know that he’s paying attention. “It wasn’t much of a battle at all. Bro forgot Mom Lalonde was coming over and she saw me chained to a pipe on the roof in the middle of some bogus ‘endurance training.’ Like, mostly naked in cold weather.”

Karkat’s quiet for a long minute and you’re suddenly afraid you said too much at the wrong time.

“What the fuck? This Bro guy was your guardian?” He asks.

Well, you’re here, you’re queer, and you’ve already started rolling the ball down the hill.

“Yeah, it’s messed up. My dad, Mom’s brother, was kind of a deadbeat. Bro and Dirk are my half-brothers. Anyway, bro was left in charge of me as some kind of surrogate parent while my dad fucked off. He was never around, I’ve maybe seen him four times and one of those times was at court.”

Karkat’s being very quiet and still, and you think hysterically that this is the first time you’ve managed to get him to shut up.

“Bro never knew how to take care of children.” This is harder to talk about than you thought it would be when you started. “He got away from the neglect charges because that’s what my dad got before he decided to skip town.”

“Bro used to try and train me in combat, made me believe in this kind of super cool persona and only liking shit for its ironic value. I was like, four the first time he raised a blade to my jugular. It was rough. I met John online when I was 10 and he was the first one to tell me that my supposed coolness was all crap. Didn’t believe him till later, really, but at least I didn’t have many delusions about there being too much love from bro once the irony shit was blown out of the water.”

“What kind of pan-damaged asshattery is that crap?” He finally says. It’s not really a command to stop though, so you keep going. 

You snap your fingers to the side, and lean back on your hands. Open. But you’re always watching your reflection to check for people behind you. “Mom and Roxy just recently, like a couple years ago, got me to start buying new clothes more often. It took me a few years to stop habitually hoarding snacks and saving absolutely everything I owned until it was obsolete.”

“I’m so sorry, Dave.”

“Eh, Don’t be. I got Mom and Rose and all them out of it. It can’t be all bad if I have all of them. Mom hugs are the best kind, and I woulda never found out if everything didn’t happen the way it did. And I met you, man.” You bump his shoulder.

He makes a little complaining noise, but still bumps you back. 

“You have to let me know if there’s anything that I do that fucks with you in a bad way, Dave. I mean it, and that’s the only time I’ll say it because I’m not a fucking overemotional puss-ass,” he says next.

You laugh out loud and his face flushes a deep crimson. Such a pretty color. 

“Okay, Crabkat. Will do. Now stop being such a puss-ass ninnylicker,” you shoot back at him.

“You want to get a late lunch?” He says next.

You buy him a stuffed manatee he wants on the way out. 

\--

You drive the both of you to a Kincaid’s. Karkat gets a burger and a shake, and pays for your BLT and root beer float. You share fries. 

Something about the air is clearer, now, and you don’t even surprise yourself when you hold Karkat’s hand. It goes something like this: you, a smooth fucking mcgroove, accidentally touch Karkat’s hand while reaching for a French fry at the same time as him. You decide to keep your hand there. In a daring and absolutely killer move, you shift the two hands to the side of the fries and wind your fingers down into his until they touch his palm. 

Earth-shattering revelations hit him, you assume, because a volcano explodes on his face and he’s staring at the joined palms like they’re a venomous snake that has a huge-ass killer bee in its mouth. 

He’s so pitiable. Maybe this troll romance thing wouldn’t be too hard with him. Not at all.

As long as Karkat is happy.

“I can’t hold it back anymore. Can this be a date?” You ask.

Now, the hand-holding could be tossed off as something playful at this point. All you need is to wiggle your eyebrows, throw him an especially bad pickup line or joke, and he’ll retract his arm from you. 

But you don’t want that. No, what you want is to effectively transformify your friendship past the point of no return. If it wasn’t yet. Or at least, it must be what you want, because you tell him. 

“I would really like it to be.” Fucking _NAILED_ it. Karkat’s volcano face goes supernova, and it’s like you’ve hit the jackpot. It takes him awhile to come to his senses. You’re not smiling but you’re pretty sure he can read the set of your eyebrows. 

Turns out you were wrong. Part of the reason is probably that Karkat is currently eyes-glued on the table. The other part comes out when he talks. 

“But you can’t…” it almost kills your exhilaration buzz. “You can’t… with me… I’m not…”

“You’re not what, Karkat?” The object of your affection looks around. It took you a good amount of thinking and mulling and not being able to just brush it off, and you want this. And you hope that Karkat does, too. You’ve got a really good feeling.

He squeezes your fingers with the captured hand, and he just stares at it. Disbelief? Surprise? Whatever. “I can’t possibly be good enough for you.” It doesn’t even look like he’s believing his own words as he says them. 

“Well I don’t know what to tell you, cause you are. Too good, even. Angry, stubborn, stupid, yeah.” Karkat nods, and finally looks up at you, like he’s waiting for you to drop the other shoe. “But I don’t know how else to tell you how much I want this to be a thing. Like, us. You got me trippin’ and it’s awful sometimes but that’s just cause I want it all the time.”

Karkat looks like he’s gonna open his mouth to protest again, so you talk over him. “Sometimes I wonder how you’re so great, how you get so fly, sugar, sugar how you get so fly.” You kinda sing the last bit, for the effect. 

He doesn’t look down this time, but he does facepalm, pretty hard. “Well at least I know you’re real. God, you’re stupid. And asking me out by kidnapping my hand in your greasy fucking fingers and holding me hostage at a picnic table. So fucking… clumsy. So stupid.” Karkat’s smiling now, though, just a little quirk on the edge of his mouth. Oh and his mouth. Man, remembering the club when you’re alone is hard nowadays.

A part of this feels so fast, and unstable. But it feels so… worked up to. So important to you, and to fate, whatever that is. When Karkat nods, your dreams from the last few months that you didn’t even know you had (haha), come true. 

“I would like that, too, I think” he says. “A, uh… a relation… ship?” Vocal realization of the gospel truth. 

“Well, okay then.” 

The lunch is quieter, now, but you don’t mind. His pulse is steady in his grip. His fingers are sweaty. It’s the best. God you’ve wanted to do this since the holidays.

Your thumb running over the ball of his hand gets you a little sigh and chirp that you immediately want to hear more of, and it’s hard to maintain a straight face in this public restaurant.

It doesn’t strike you until this moment how tired you were of the staying careful, and not touching him. Being too far and too close at the same time. Looking back at Christmas and wanting to do it all over again. Looking back at how he kissed you at the club that time. Why didn’t you ask him then? Why were you so stupid? Dates don’t need to be this huge event, you could have just asked. Anytime.

He tries to take his hand back at some point, but you don’t let it go. Fuck not hoarding anymore because you want to hoard every one of Karkat’s expressions.

When the fuck did you turn into this? This idiotic, hopeful self. It’s such a good feeling, though, and you have to let yourself relax into it. 

Fuck all the bullshit. You were getting so tired of it this last week.

At the end of your date, you hold his hand as you walk him up to his door.

He doesn’t move, this time, when you lean in and hold your face next to his. 

It’s like on the roof. You’re standing there, watching the water drip off of his bangs, and wanting to be a part of his sphere of warmth. A puff of breath goes into the air between you, and he squeaks when you dive to kiss his cheek. 

Like he’s been waiting to do it again, though, he pulls your chins together and kisses you oh so gently. Raindrops on the window gentle. Puppy tail wags gentle. Fucking epic amounts of sappy shit and you can feel his quickening pulse under your thumb. 

It’s magic. Prom night, teenagers, only-for-each-other, don’t wanna close my eyes, love you forever—

Love?

You pull off of his close-mouthed kiss, and admire the way his eyes look doubtful that this is even happening. He’s more flustered than he has any right to be, but you have to stop.

You gotta do this right by him. Not Right like justice and old ideologies, but Right like correct for 100% swoonage. Because this means something to you. And Karkat means everything to you, for absolutely no fucking good reason. And he loves this shit, the proper way of going about things, the romance and leaving at the door with all smiles and fairy lights and god you have got to watch more of his favorite movies so you can implement that crap right away. 

With one last peck, you fully draw back, and take your hands to more tame locations on his wrists. “Thanks, dude.”

He fiddles with the keys in his hands, and you make that move to step away. 

Karkat starts talking instead of actually unlocking the door. “We should start hanging out again. Now that I have an excuse to be around you, because you’re my…”

“Matesprit, hopefully?” you finish for him, and you can feel a blush of your own starting. 

Right. Matesprits. Boyfriends. Titles. It feels so good. And he wanted excuses to spend more time close to you? Holy fuck. You really need to go or you’ll never leave and you’ll rush this whole impulsive thing. 

“I’ll swing by Thursday after you get off work and we can watch a movie and eat pizza? Chill on the couch?” Cmon, school yourself, Dave. Flat voice, flat mouth. Be in control. 

Karkat blurts, “Make out?” Like he’s joking, like it’s a reference you’re missing. And looks like he’s going to throw up. Christ he’s cute. He’s suddenly asking questions and saying please and thank you and it’s all so fucking adorable. He looks angry even asking you to come over for the sole purpose of kissing him some more. Even if he was kidding? Gog. 

“Yeah bro.”

Karkat is even more flustered that you agreed to his joke! Christ! And stands on his toes to kiss you again before going inside, only closing the door when you walk away.

You make it to your car and the keys are in the ignition. The little timer you have in your head counts to ten.

Whipping off your shades and shoving them in your pocket, you run back up his stairs. You pound on the door for the second time today, and it’s like he was expecting you to be there, because he opens it too soon. 

Your eyes find his and you’re kissing him senseless, within an inch of his life, to hell and back. You remember how his skin felt under your hands at the club, so you put them there again. 

“Check mate on the romantic bullshit quota,” you murmur against his mouth before swooping in to steal his breath away yet again. Your bodies are so close, so warm together. He’s breathless when you let him have some air. And you’re so happy.

“Oooh, screw you, Dave,” he half-growls with some kind of subdued disbelief. 

You give him your best ravishing smolder, and his face gets redder than a science book diagram of the core of the earth. 

“I might just have to let you do that,” you reply.

You still end up going home when he closes the door in your face.

 

TG: <3    
CG: <3 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so I said I would post it on sunday or monday and here it is, a bit early! nice lil chap. if you didn't read chapter 17 yet, go ahead and do that, it gives relevant background information on this chapter, etc etc
> 
> hope y'all enjoy! this thing is coming to an end, it's been nice writing my first chaptered fic and I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend. :)


	19. You might love him, don't you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some thoughts and a movie night

Dave has just left you at your door. You feel like your heart might leap right out of your chest, and you clutch the front of your shirt, as if that might somehow help you keep it in. This is weird. This feels very weird. But positive. And to the roots of your feet on the wooden floor, it feels familiar and correct like nothing ever seems to feel. 

Everything is okay, now, somehow.

Well, obviously it’s not just hunky-dory in the world and sparkles and rainbows forever, and…

Despite the stupid date and the bad confession and the manatee, part of you wants to believe it isn’t true. You’re pretty good at stamping those kind of bad intrusive thoughts out, though, and you do. With vigor. You grind your heel into them, enthusiastically, and force the tiny amount of bile in your throat down so that you can think properly about your new… human matesprit. 

You slide down the wall, and settle there where your butt meets your heels. Arms around your knees, you do something you’re constantly trying not to do: reflect. This time, though, it doesn’t automatically transport you into an abyss of bad thoughts. You bury your face in the manatee he’d gotten you. It’s an entirely wonderful and huggable size. The feeling of Dave’s lips on yours is so fresh. 

You touch your mouth, like you could recreate the feeling. 

Oh, god. Your face is fucking tingling. 

Kanaya’s text tone dings from your pocket, and you look at the clock. And you see that you’ve been out for most of the day. And you’re a little horrified. And you have towels in the dryer.

Remembering your laundry pushes you quickly to your feet, and you rush to retrieve the towels from the machine and put the wet ones in there. They’ll be wrinkled as fuck, but for some reason you care less than usual. 

Kanaya texts again when you throw the still-slightly-warm pile of fabric onto your bed. Before you start folding you might as well answer her. 

You see eight missed texts from her. Were you really so distracted that you missed so much from your moirail?

KANAYA: Hello Karkat.    
KANAYA: Rose And I Were Wondering If You Would Like A Break From Your Cleaning.   
KANAYA: To Come Have Lunch With Us.    
KANAYA: It Has Been Awhile And I Assume You Are Hard At Work.   
KANAYA: Karkat?   
KANAYA: Lunch Was Terrific. I Hope You Have Done Well On Your Housekeeping.   
KANAYA: I Am Checking To See If You Will Text Me Back Yet.   
KANAYA: Are You Hanging Out With Dave? He Is Also Not Replying To Rose’s Text Messages.

Oh yeah. You went out with Dave today.

You fall forward and into the pile of towels. They smell so good and warm. They also muffle your voice when you scream into them. You went out with Dave today!

Your hands are tingling, your arms are numb, your whole body isn’t moving with the excitement because you! Karkat! Went on a Date! With Dave!

… a date.

…are you also human dating now? You should ask Dave. You should ask Dave to come kiss you again right now. 

_Ding._

Kanaya’s texting you again. 

One arm regains feeling before the other, and you have to roll over in order to get to your phone in your pocket. As soon as you have it out, it dings again. 

KANAYA: Dave Has Texted Rose Back Now And Confirmed That You Were With Him Today.    
KANAYA: Answer Me, Dear.   
KARKAT: DAVE TOOK ME ON A DATE TODAY.   
KANAYA: Oh My.   
KANAYA: Well Is That Exciting Or What?

The phone falls on your face, and you let it, finishing your rolling descent down the mountain of towels. It is, Kanaya. It is exciting.

_Ding!_

Blindly you scrabble on the sheets for your phone again. 

KANAYA: This Was A Surprise To All Of Us.   
KANAYA: Despite Rose’s Smirk Right Now.   
KARKAT: HE BROKE INTO MY HOUSE WHILE I WAS CLEANING.  
KANAYA: How Romantic Of Him.   
KARKAT: SO ROMANTIC. IT’S BLEEDING OUT MY SOUND RECEPTION CANALS HOW ROMANTIC IT ALL WAS.  
KANAYA: You Are Sounding Quite Happy, Karkat.  
KARKAT: HE KISSED ME.  
KANAYA: He Has Kissed You Before, Dear.  
KARKAT: IT WAS SO NICE.  
KANAYA: Like The Movies You Love So Much?  
KARKAT: JUST LIKE THE MOVIES.   
KARKAT: I AM TROLL MEG RYAN. TAKEN SURPRISE BY MY LATENT AND BUDDING FEELINGS UNTIL THERE IS NO CHOICE BUT TO ACT UPON THEM AND FIND THE DEEPEST PITY IN MY SENSIBLE AND ADEQUATE BOSOM.   
KARKAT: MINUS THE MOANING AT THE RESTAURANT.  
KARKAT: THAT WAS WHERE HE ASKED ME, KANAYA.  
KANAYA: Asked You What, Dear?  
KARKAT: ASKED ME IF IT COULD BE A DATE, KANAYA.  
KARKAT: HE HELD MY HAND, KANAYA.  
KANAYA: Well Isn’t That Something.  
KARKAT: MORE SACCARINE THAN THAT PUPPY-OBSESSED OLIVE BLOOD YOU HAD AT WORK, WHO ONLY WANTED PINK CRYSTALS ON HER RING FINGERS BECAUSE SHE JUST FUCKING GOT ENGAGED TO WHATEVER DISGUSTING AND PAN-ADDLED NUTCASE SHE SAW FIT TO WRESTLE INTO HER AMPLE SPHERES.   
KANAYA: This Is Just The Sweetest Thing.

Your phone hits you in the nose when you drop it, this time. 

It stays there on your neck, and you don’t pick it up. It was kind of like a romance, wasn’t it? Do all relationships happen this way? You’ve been in so few. From being attracted to him at first, having to push it down, spending holidays with him, hanging out with him, seeing him work, hearing the music he makes, all of it. 

From the piercing stare on the train to the Look he’d given you right before he left. Oh, and that Look. That look he’d given you simultaneously had the blood rushing south and north in a dizzying duplicity, making your heart jump in your chest like it wanted to see him, too. Dave, Dave, Dave. The dreams you’d had to suppress to act natural around him stressed you out. The times you were so close, but not close enough, stressed you out. The points in the past months you’d known Dave, where you thought ‘how could be possibly want me’ and shoved down any and all feelings, stressed you out. 

That stress is all gone now, though. 

You’d been stressed about things for so long, with Gamzee, and with your Dad, and will the daily tasks of life, with Kanaya, and then Dave. But now? Everything had melted into a good mold and things were… they were fine. Right? An image of Dave supporting you across the ice comes to mind.

Well by fucking golly everything was going to be fine, now. You’re determined.

And by that, you mean that for the next several days, you will determinedly devote every spare waking moment to thinking about Dave. Probably. Outside of work. Starting this second. 

That slow, smooth affection of him settling into your life. Now that you can, you want to run away with Dave like a Bruce Springsteen song. Like fucking John Egbert’s favorite playlists. 

Kanaya is texting you again, and you crack a smile as you pick up your phone. 

Dave changes his relationship status at around midnight, when you get up to heat some leftovers. You accept it. Your phone gets some texts almost immediately afterward that you weren’t really expecting.

TEREZI: H4H4H4 CONGR4TS ON M4K1NG TH4T MOV3, N3RD   
GAMZEE: TeLl mE If hE TrIeS AnYtHiNg sHiFtY, kArBrO :o)   
SOLLUX: siickeniing   
KANAYA: I Suppose You Are In Need Of Congratulations For The ‘Official-ness’, Though It Does Seem Rather Belated And Trite

 

\--

 

Dave does, in fact, come over and watch movies on Thursday. 

He’s a perfect gentleman. He doesn’t even put his hand under your shirt until you grab it and put it there for him, back in that spot it seems to like where your last grub scar bleeds into gray skin. You’re getting ahead of yourself. This whole fucking event needs to be described in intimate detail. The entire shabam. Because you’re documenting this shit for future reference. 

Dave hands you a movie he says you’ll like, and the two of you plop right down on the good ol’ couch, there in the living room. You get drinks, and he gets plates. His hand smoothes down the small of your back. 

Dave has brought a huge, hot pizza that smells so good you almost cream your pants right there. Some complicated ingredients and thin crust and you’re ready to splay your entire body out in ecstasy, excepting the fact that it somehow tastes even better. 

After about four slices, you notice Dave isn’t eating anymore. And he’s taking off his sunglasses, just for you he says, and kissing you again, right there on the couch. Pizza breath and all.

Tentative, this time. Like he may have overstepped before. That confidence from days previous was hot, though. Reciprocating well will let him know that he’s fine, right? You’re not really thinking well with words right now. But you know what you want. You’re gonna fucking take it. You shoved all that doubt right down to where it belonged, and now Dave is really all you want.

As soon as the sunglasses and your plate hit the coffee table, you’re leaning over to meet him halfway with fingers on the sides of his neck and you’re a little eager. Come on, though, you just convinced yourself that you should live out your dreams. Specifically, the sexy ones. The good ones. The ones that start out something like this and end around where Dave shoves one of those fantastic and calloused hands of his into your shorts. 

In fact, you’re wearing shorts today. Miraculous, isn’t it?

Dave pushes you over, and you think all this slow kissing with the soft touches is going to escalate. You’re thrilled. 

Maybe you should be patient, though? 

The thought gives you pause. You… maybe you should give it some time. Maybe you’ve been reading too many novels that gave you bright ideas. Would it be better if you rechecked the pace? You’re getting too excited. God, it’s like you’re a young troll and just figuring out that other trolls have useful genitals, too. 

So you take a deep breath. It’s nice, you find, laying here on the couch, with Dave peppering kisses over your face. His lips are so soft, and his nose pushes into your cheek in a way you really like. Kissing humans is so different from kissing trolls. There’s no sharp teeth to watch out for except your own. And his tongue is shorter, even though he’s not using it right now. Human lips are so squishy.

Slow kisses, warm kisses, kisses like no one else but you should ever get to experience them, a kiss to the tip of your nose and a kiss on your upper lip. A happy noise when you scratch a little into the hair at the base of his skull. Your eyes open when he pulls away for more than a few seconds, and he’s looking at you like he hasn’t really done before. Like he hasn’t even looked at you before. 

Like he’s just seeing you like this. And you feel your face splitting in a smile, and his eyes are lighting up, and he’s grinning, too. 

“That’s the most relaxed expression I’ve ever seen on your gross face, man,” he informs you. You go back to a frown immediately.

“You’re lucky I pity you so much, Strider,” you inform him. 

Dave manages to stay up on his elbows, but his head drops to your chest. The heat of it comes through your shirt, and you can almost see the steam rising. 

He muffles a “Thanks” into the fabric.

After that, he squeezes you tight, and seems content to just hold you. To lay down between your legs and lay one ear on your chest and watch the movie. The weight of him is so comfortable where it is, and you sigh, relaxing into the large pillow behind your head. 

You don’t fall asleep during the film, but he does. His full weight descends into your torso and the couch almost swallows you both. If it did, would you just be alone with him forever? You wish. The face he makes while he sleeps is so calm, so serene. It betrays nothing of his messy childhood, but you know he wouldn’t be making it if he didn’t feel safe around you. The thought makes something bloom in your chest; warmth, steadily expanding, released from where you’d been holding it. 

Somewhere during the credits, you move to get the remote, and Dave wakes up. With like, a stupid little snort and a grunt that tells you he wasn’t expecting to have fallen asleep. He sits up, and rubs at his eyes and neck. Looking back at you, though, makes him pause and drop his hands, nervously, to his lap. Dave is staring at you, blushing, and you realize that you’re still lying there with your legs spread to accommodate him. 

“Um, sorry for passing out all over you,” he says, and tries to back up. 

A few seconds of deliberation later, and you make a bold move to trap his waist in between your knees. All those looks yesterday, and the heated gaze he sends you now, and the blood is still rushing to his face. And you’re smirking. And he’s trying not to look at you like this, pushed up on your elbows and holding him there. Oh, he could get out if he wanted to. 

It doesn’t really seem like he wants to, though, when he obviously makes a decision of his own and places his hands somewhere between your knees and mid-thighs.

“I really fucking want you, Karkat,” Dave starts, and looks a little distracted with running one of his thumbs in little circles on your leg. He sits still while you pull yourself upright, and pokes his face out to meet your lips. Every time you kiss him, you wonder why you didn’t just hit on him from day one. Yeah, he was a menace on day one. And for a time after that. 

Okay, you’re not wondering anymore. But this could have been so much more frequent. Making out is fun. Making out is good. Having him stick his short tongue in your mouth and chew your lips with his dull human teeth and do more talented things with his mouth is great. The bee’s knees. But when you settle yourself in his lap and roll your hips, and he’s pulling back? That’s not as much. 

“Oh c’mon Karkat, I want you so bad. Badder than a Beatles song. But you gotta not do that or I won’t be able to leave,” Dave whines on your chin. And his hands are obviously itching to go up into your shirt, so you move one of them to palm at that place you mentioned earlier. In the beginning of this chapter?

“Dave,” you start, tilting your head to allow better access to that fantastic mouth, “I’m a healthy, growing,” Dave snorts at the ‘growing’ bit, and you bite his lip as a punishment, “and energetic young troll. And maybe I don’t want you to leave.”

“Man, lemme do this proper,” he tries, even as he makes a not-so-plaintive noise at your teeth dragging across the skin of his stupid, stupid jaw. 

You stop, then, and take one hand off his neck so that you can lean back, slightly out of reach. “Proper? Is this a human thing, this hang-up?” 

Dave whines a little. “Yeah, okay, it’s a ‘me-wanting-a-meditated-and-slow-and-good-relationship-with-you-because-I’ve-never-had-one-I’m-serious-about’ human thing.”

You sigh, and you wat to persuade him. Serious, though. That was something he said. The fact that he’s ‘serious’ about this? That you’re special in this way? If it’s what Dave wants, you definitely weren’t going to force it. The ‘serious’ thing just makes you do it faster, before you manage to get rid of that little ball of warmth.

“Okay, okay.”

Dave seems relieved, and also… frustrated? But it’s not with you. Mostly relieved, though. Can you distract him from the frustration?

“I’ll bite. What’s going to be proper about… you leaving me here, on the couch, to take care of myself?”

Dave groans, and smacks you a little on the chest. “Third date.”

“Pardon me?” you ask. You remember something like this from one of the human movies you’ve watched. Right. 

“Third date,” Dave repeats, and carefully peels his hands off of you, like an afterthought. “Or later. You can’t honestly tell me you don’t know what this cultural reference is, dude.”

Later… okay. 

“No, I understand your ‘cultural reference’ after some thought. I think it’s a little silly, but… I’ll give you this,” you reply. 

Dave looks even more relieved, and you feel a little regret at even considering something close to not doing exactly what he wants. This isn’t going to be perfect. But you’ll try your hardest. 

Dave gets up pretty soon after that, and you walk him to the door. 

The kiss he gives you at the door is full of heat, quick as flowing magma oozing down your spine. It’s nice. You can wait for this. You watch him get into his car and drive away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, sorry for the weird timing of this chapter, but I have work tonight so I wanted to make sure I posted it before then! um I hope everyone likes it, has a good day, yadda yadda yadda


	20. Wanna do you, right where you're standing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave brings Karkat takeout and tries at a Third Date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now including The Full Sex! This chapter is primarily uh, sex. So! Be warned! If you see something you think I should particularly add to the tags that might be squicky or something, let me know! otherwise I'm not planning on it, because yknow, itd make ppl think they didnt have to wait 19 chapters for it. anyhoo! enjoy!

Your door sounds a knock the next evening, first thing after dinner, and Dave is there with a bag of takeout.

“This counts as a third date, right? Look, it has to. I brought you food and everything.”

You’re a little confused for about point five seconds before you remember.

“Oh, Dave,” a sweet voice sounds from deeper in the apartment. Kanaya and Rose must come into view behind you, because Dave is now clutching his face with his unoccupied hand, and twitching with something that sounds like a laugh and a sob had a lovechild. His ears are bright red. 

_Ohhh._ Ohhhhh my god. You cover your mouth with the hand that’s not holding the door, and snicker. You hadn’t told him they were coming over when you texted him, earlier. 

Rose breezes past you toward the coat rack, where she had left her shrug. Kanaya’s pale hand comes past you to take the blazer that Rose offers her. She squeezes your shoulder.

“Now, Dave,” Rose says, “We’ll leave you to… _it_.”

Dave curses under his breath, into his wrist. Thankfully, the two girls had already been about to leave.

Or this would be a lot more awkward. 

Rose walks out the door after slipping on her shoes, patting Dave gently on the back. 

“Fuck you,” Dave says.

“Love you too, cousin,” she replies, and gestures for Kanaya to follow her. “It was nice seeing you, Karkat. Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, but you can’t take your eyes off of Dave. He’s still standing there, face-palmed. 

“Yes, thank you, Karkat,” Kanaya says. Wrapping you up in her arms, she squeezes tight once and gives you a gentle kiss on the top of the head. “Be careful, now,” she adds. It’s your turn to ripen like a tomato. Kanaya follows Rose out, then. Dave looks at her when she passes, and you see a look pass between them. Dave gulps. Kanaya quirks her lip. His face turns as pink as his ears, and he glances just barely away from her eyes. 

It’s about two minutes after they leave that you get tired of Dave just standing there, and you pull him in by his jacket sleeve. Moving to close and lock the door behind him, you have to get up close to his face. Dave gets a peck on the cheek when you draw away. He doesn’t move, though, seeming to have lost some major steam when Rose showed up. 

Okay. Maybe not.

That third date thing he said when he got in, though. Nothing?

“Take off your shoes before you come in, it’s been raining today. And knowing you, you stepped in some mud,” you tell him, and move back. It’s feeling kind of chilly in here, with the door having been open for so long. Should you get a robe?

Dave drops the plastic bag just inside the door. The next second he’s holding you by the jaw, gently, with both hands. You’re speechless. He gets very close to you. He inhales. He shudders. 

“That was so uncool,” he mutters.

“Yeah, it kinda was,” you agree. Even as he’s craning his neck forward to give you a peck on the mouth. He shudders again. “And here I thought you were the king of all things cool. How skewed my view will be after this point.”

“Damnit,” he says, “I had to do the proper thing, right, I had to leave you alone with that for a day but man, a day was all I could do and I’m sorry.” Dave is backing you up into the wall next to your kitchen, one socked foot sliding in between yours.

_Screw ‘giving it time.’_

“I just wanted to be closer to you as soon as possible, man.”

_Yeah, seriously, what were we thinking?_

It’s hard for you to sound casual when you speak next. “Well, Jesus, Dave, that’s a little forward.”

He ignores you. “I like, God this is embarrassing. I need you without layers between us, okay?” He’s cornering you, and you’re fine with it. The heat of his body feels so nice against yours. No need for that robe, anymore. Like a lizard you leech onto his body heat and clumsily pull him closer to you.

“You’re very, uh, eager,” you reply, and make sure to pointedly glance down at the front of his pants. Like you’re not having a similar problem. 

He sighs, very firmly. 

“Yeah, well it’s not just a sex thing, okay,” he wheedles a little. “I’ve been waiting forever and now I can have you, so _fuck_ it if I won’t _have_ you. _All of you.”_

Now you can’t help it, and you go from twenty to sixty in about ten seconds. He hasn’t even really kissed you yet. Some high-pitched calls echo from your throat.

“Fucking, fucking cricket noises should not be as hot as they are,” he mutters. And finally, he kisses you. For real. Hot and wet and awkward-sounding with the damp noises and lips smacking, but great. Better than great. You want to focus on kissing, but Dave wants to talk some more. “Wanted you since Christmas. Since my birthday. Since you opened your fucking eyes on that observation deck.”

Your chest rattles, and Dave removes his mouth from yours and down your jaw. You’re the one to whine, now. No, you want more kissing. Though… his tongue does feel good on underside of your chin, and just behind your ear. You let it slide.

“Had to fucking leave after kissing you on Christmas to be alone in the shower. Like a damn fifteen-year-old too flustered by affection. Holy shit, man, and I have you. So much.” Dave’s still talking, which is a bit of an issue in your book. Does he ever shut up? Oh… oh, apparently he does. When he’s trying to make a good-sized mark on your skin.

Another call rattles from inside your chest, and Dave breathes a little heavily when you pull his head away by the hair. 

Bravery and frustration make you do what you do next. “Yeah, well, now I’m here to take care of that kind of problem for you,” you say, a little irritated. It has a different result than you expected when Dave moans. A small one, but it was still there. Carving out a place in your mind that told you it was a good sound. 

He unsticks his lips from where they’ve found yours again before crouching down. A lot of images flash through your head that maybe make you feel light-headed, before he grips your waist and lifts you. Since when was Dave this strong? Doesn’t matter.

Instinct, probably, makes your legs find and grip his waist tight when he straightens back up and pushes his entire body weight into you. This brings your crotches into very close contact, and the thought of maybe accomplishing it naked makes you shiver when his tongue thrusts back into your mouth. 

“Got a prerogative?” Dave jokes. “And here I was just wanting to be on the same height level.”

You literally snarl a curse into his mouth whenever you get the chance, and roll your quaking hips. Shove your tongue into his mouth to show him exactly what your ‘prerogative’ is. “Fuck you, coming to me for one thing and turning it.” Dave grunts, shakes, before pushing even harder with his entire torso. Not needing to support you anymore, his hands find your thighs. 

And thank god for wearing big, loose shorts again today. Because it’s incredibly hot how his hands can just slip in under the material to palm your ass. 

Incredibly. 

You have no idea where to go from here, because this feels so good. To be doing, to be experiencing, whatever. God, you could kiss Dave for hours. Dave doesn’t seem to really know what to do, either, just kissing and sporadically rolling his body. The rolls don't come as naturally to you, being a troll, but they make you whine a little all the same. He does his best at figuring shit out, apparently, and moves his fingers back to grip around your thighs. One hand smoothes up your lower back, and you get the feeling he’s wanting to move from standing. 

“Bedroom?” He asks, between kisses. A genuine question, not just checking.

“Best idea you’ve had all day, Dave,” you agree, and you’re moving. Dave is _carrying you._ Good Lord. 

He can’t kiss you while he’s walking, so you occupy yourself by running your fangs up and down his throat. Once, Dave stumbles when you hit a good spot. You laugh and he says ‘fuck you,’ and you whisper ‘that’s the goal,’ and he stumbles again.

“Christ, Karkat, you’re usually so surly,” he complains while he’s pressing you down, finally, into the pillows. “When did you become this?” He gets rid of your shirt. 

“Oh what the fuck ever, Dave, you like it,” you respond, and lick a little mark you’ve left with a press of your teeth that may have been just too hard. He groans in reply, and pulls his neck out of your mouth’s reach. On this flat surface, his lovely, dexterous fingers can work on you and they do. They run up and down your sides, scraping on sensitive grub scars and going down just not far enough on the dip of your pelvic region. 

You really want those hands in your underwear as soon as possible. You’ve got plenty of imagination fuel.

And Dave kisses you again. Your hands explore him, too, and find the hem of his jeans. When you undo the button in the front, he chokes into your mouth and thrusts weakly into the space between your bodies. You won’t give him that yet. You use the newly freed up space in his jeans to reach into them and grab his ass. He likes that just as much. 

Huh. 

You think back to the first time you seriously kissed this pitiful lug. The club, right? He’d really seemed to like it when you took control, if you thought hard back on the memory. A second to push at his neck and get him to back off, panting. A second to look him in the eye. It wasn’t important until just now, but you take off his shades and bare his eyes. 

Yeah. 

Full of need and passion and all that gooey crap. You pity him so much. 

In there is a spark of cleverness, though, that tells you that he knows that you’ve figured it out. The fingers still trapped in his jeans, outside the undershorts, push down into the dip between his ass cheeks, and he looks surprised for a second before moaning softly. Oh Christ that’s hot.

You yank off his shirt with little ceremony, and are quick to divest him of his jeans. Dave looks a little overwhelmed, but he’s chuckling when they get stuck on his knees and ankles. He gets up to get them off the rest of the way, and you throw your shorts to the side while he’s up. 

When he looks back at you after throwing his pants over your desk chair, he pauses before covering his face with his hands for the second time that day. 

“What?” You ask, a little crankily, beckoning him to come back over to you. 

“Why are you wearing… I thought I was imagining things but you’re wearing… Karkat.”

“What’s wrong with my underwear?” Kanaya made them for you, and they were soft and comfortable. You knew they were probably a little stained right now, and the thought of sitting here with spread legs and genetic material seeping into your underwear makes you heat all the way through. 

Dave comes back to you, but doesn’t lean over to kiss you. He sits on his knees between your thighs, and runs a few fingers up and down the lacy edges. Your moirail had insisted on doing the lace edging, for the reason that ‘You Might As Well Just Have Them Be Pretty If You Like The Fabric Texture So Much.’ It’s clearly working out in your favor. His human bulge is tenting his boxer briefs. 

“Absolutely nothing is wrong with your underwear, dude. Fuckin’ sexy. Okay?” He looks embarrassed. “My boyfriendsprit-thing likes wearing panties. It’s a dream come true, is all.”

You blush. Turns out a human thing has worked in your favor. This time. Gender-roles in humans were normally a nuisance. But now? Dave was looking very interested in running his fingers all over them. And possibly his face. Just the idea of Dave’s face near the apex of your legs makes you shiver, again. 

He notices, of course. And experimentally drags his fingertips back over the same spot he’d been touching. When you don’t shiver again like that, he pulls at the top of the panties. This gets you to twitch a little, and suddenly the scrutiny on your eyes is too much. Smirking, Dave pulls them down a little more, right in the center. His index finger brushes the top of the slit where your bulge will soon be making a guest appearance, and you cover your face with one arm. 

“Hmmm. Interesting,” He murmurs. You can’t see him anymore, but you can feel his hands go back to your knees, then up. Thumbs tracing the invisible line that marks the inseam of your thighs. It’s almost torturous, how slowly he’s decided to go. But he’s testing the waters, right? Trying to figure out how you work. God, that’s hot. You let him do whatever he wants. It’s your legs that are bent at his sides, but his decisions on what you’re doing now. 

One of those hands from your thigh glides even further forward to cup your sex, outside the cloth. When his middle and ring fingers press in, slowly, and the heel of his hand grinds down on your slit, you release a kind of high-pitched warble only one person has ever heard before. It’s embarrassing how much this is affecting you. 

Your bulge is making itself known, twisting up and out against Dave’s palm. He uses his hand to move the panties to the side, and plunge those same two fingers right into your nook. It squelches, you chitter loudly and have to grip the sheets tightly, and Dave makes a satisfied noise when you grind down on his hand. He goes to work.

When you imagined sex with Dave, it was with more instantaneous fucking and less him fingering you and you almost losing your mind all over your sheets. Excluding certain… times. Dave is good at this, and it makes you wonder if it’s because he’s had a lot of practice, or if he’s just… good at it. Real articulate, right?

Dave leans forward to kiss you again about the same time he finds your seed flap, three digits deep in your sopping nook. Some indecipherable chatter explodes from your mouth, and he grins against your lips. Gently abuses that spot until you almost drool. Thankfully you don’t, or he’d never let you live it down. 

He stops soon, though, relenting. Thank god for your naturally high stamina. It takes you a second to figure that he’s been rutting against the bed while his fingers were working their magic, and you fumble your hands for his human bulge. Dave stops you, though, smacking your hands back to the sheets. You whine a little. 

You can feel him moving away, and reach out to stop him. You grab an arm. “I want you to feel good too, damnit,” you manage, growling through heavy breaths. Opening your eyes shows you that Dave’s quirking a brow at you, and reaching for his jacket on the floor with his clean hand. 

“I want to eat you out, first, before I get distracted,” he explains. Like he’s discussing the weather! It makes you chirp a few times, anyway. “If that’s okay with you.”

Spluttering, it takes a minute for mental images to stop flashing through your pan before you can talk. “Then why aren’t you just doing it?!” you demand the first thing that comes to mind. 

“I thought I might as well use a dental dam. Well, I’m clean and I’m sure you are too, but it’s polite anyway, to ask. I don’t have any on me but I have condoms I can cut in half,” Dave informs you. You groan in frustration, and toss a bit back and forth.

“Just put your wicked tongue in me. It’ll take too long for the other thing, you shitbag,” you pant, and gasp when Dave’s fingers, covered in red genetic material, run delicately up your now fully-unsheathed bulge, and then pull your underwear off. Both of his hands find your hips again, and he moves back on the bed until he’s able to hoist your lower half straight off the covers. 

Part of you knows you’re not this flexible, and you’ll be in a lot of pain tomorrow, but the other half makes you clench your thighs down on the sides of his head when he does just what you wanted and just shoves his face right into Karkat’s Nook-Ville, population: one. 

It feels really strange at first, and at this point you should probably admit that you haven’t had anyone’s mouth between your legs before. So what if you probably said you had to someone in the past, you wanted to seem cool or something. Shit happens. It takes a minute to start feeling good and not just warm and weird, and Dave seems to get that and just confidently tapdances on into the horizon of Karkat’s First Oral Experience. He does, in fact, ‘put his wicked tongue in you’, holding you around him with one hand on your lower back and the other arm around one of your thighs. He breathes sweetly on your nook, kissing it, biting your inner thigh with his blunt human teeth, and generally making a real mess of himself with your fucking ooze getting all over his face from the bridge of his nose to his chin. 

Eventually his ministrations have you writhing and thrusting up into his mouth. Every time your nook clenches on his tongue, he moans his human moans, sending vibrations through your core. You’re starting to notice yourself lose control, by the way your bulge is lashing at his forehead.

It’s too soon that you have to get him to stop. Because fucking damnit, you are not losing it yet. Dave could eat you out all day, you have no fucking problem with that at all. The way he’s currently licking long stripes up the lips of your nook is evidence enough that you could definitely let him do this for awhile longer. You might have to work that out with him. Not even kidding. 

For now, though, you reach out to grab his hair again. 

“I won’t be able to fuck you like you want if you keep going like that,” you protest, and he finishes sucking a tight mark into your thigh before looking down at you. Hopefully? No, there’s too much burning for that. 

“You did want that, right?” You check. 

“Fuck yeah,” Dave says enthusiastically, lowering your hips back to the bed and crawling forward to kiss you senseless after wiping the lower half of his face off with a loose corner of your sheets. He grinds into your hips. Grinds into your nook. Moves your hands to his ass. Eagerly moves with you when you pull his underwear off partway so that you can reach more skin.

Now, you’ve seen enough human porn (see: not much but extensive research done) to know what you have to do. It grosses you out a tiny bit, but Dave seems so excited by the idea that you have to give it to him. And _really_ give it to him. Dave’s so ready to have your bulge in his ass that he moves so that he’s straddling your hips, now. Even though your legs are still bent, and your bulge is looking for somewhere to call home. 

You dig your claws in a little bit on the soft tissue of his ass, pulling the cheeks apart just a bit, and he tries to suppress a groan. Jesus Christ. He dominates your mouth, though. You let him have that control as long as he’s putty in your palms. This feeling is a little addicting. 

Dave pushes a bottle of lube and a couple bulge condoms into your hand, and you wonder briefly when he got it, and figure he must have grabbed it while he was still on the floor. High hopes, this one. The bottle isn’t cold, and you drip some of the liquid on one hand before thanking everything in the history of trollkind that you decided to trim your nails dull the last time you did it. Kanaya had lamented your lovely claws, before examining her own dull fingertips and giving a sigh.

But it’s very useful to have shorter nails when you rub the middle finger of your right hand over Dave’s entrance, and he pushes back on it. He smirks against your mouth, as much as he can while he’s panting, and you don’t really know why until you put a finger in him. It goes in easy. A moment’s pause, and you try two. Also easily. 

You give Dave a Look. “Planning ahead, were we?”

“I was so,” he gasps as you scissor your fingers. “Hopeful this would happen.”

You feel like you could add a third finger, and it also goes smoothly after adding some more lube. “Hopeful?” You ask, and pull on his waist with your other hand. He obliges you, and awkwardly crawls up you until you stop pulling. He can’t kiss you from here, but you have easier access. And you also have access to his pert fucking nipples. Another gasp rewards you when you take one into your mouth.

“Pretty hopeful. Prepared myself for a lot of things,” he manages. You decide he’s way too coherent. Dave makes a strangled yelp when you peg his prostate on the first try. Maybe peg is a bad word to use, given the context. Or maybe it’s a great word. You do it again, stroking the little organ just outside the intestinal wall, and the sound Dave makes over your head sounds even less controlled and even more like he wants everything you have to give him. 

“Well. Since you prepared so well,” you murmur, then pull him back down to eye level. Your fingers leave him and he complains noisily at the loss, before he realizes that you’re angling his hips for good access. Your bulge easily finds the vacant opening, and muscles its way in.

Dave clamps down, moaning into your mouth, barely holding onto the sheets under your head. The pressure around your bulge feels so fucking good, even if it is squeezing like a vice and narrowing your ability to hold off your orgasm. A clumsy tongue finds your lips, and your just-as clumsy lips suck at it, as you roll your hips. A simple mental note to flex the right muscles in your abdomen, and you have Dave crying out like a wanton whore and tonguing at the spot on the roof of your mouth where he’ll be able to best feel the thrumming in the back of your throat. 

He pushes back on your bulge, and you do it again. A talent you have no idea how you’d perfected, making your bulge curl up and writhe when you want it to. Of course, it does that on its own accord, you know. And you know from around when you first met Dave that not just Rose has an affinity for tentacles and associated porn. 

Dave lifts his hips a bit, keeping the more prehensile part of your bulge inside, before slamming himself back down. And… that feels so strange and foreign, but so… good. So good you pull him off and force him to do the same thing again and again, thrusting up into him in a way that makes your bulge pulse the way he seems to like it so much. 

And he’s gone to you, now. It only takes your hand reaching down to fondle his stiff human bulge a few times before his strange white genetic material is splattering across your abdomen. And he sinks down on your chest. “Mmf. Thanks, Karkat,” he slurs. 

“I’m still not done, asshole,” you reply in a gasp, and pull out of him, fully prepared to stroke yourself to finality. The end of your bulge catches on the rim of his asshole and he laughs and groans a little in the same breath. Dave flops onto his side, off to your right, and fumbles his right hand back down to where it’d become so familiar earlier with your genitals. He hikes one of your legs up over his hip, and drives his fingers back into your nook. The second he touches your seed flap again you’re keening and coming, gushing material up to his wrist. 

Everything is a blur of white for a few seconds, and you come back down to Dave laughing and weakly wiping his hand on the bedcovers. 

“I never get used to that,” he mumbles, once he’s done giggling like a fucking adorable imbecile. 

“Yeah, well you’re going to have to,” you grumble back, and sigh into the bed. Dave tugs and rolls you over to lay halfway on top of him, and at some point you’re going to have to get up and clean off. You’re so very glad that bulges are self-cleaning and you don’t have to worry about the hygiene travesty that could have just taken place, even as you retract back into your sheathe. 

You think about how he ate you out. And shiver again. He notices and laughs. “What?” He asks.

“I’ll get you back next time.”

It takes him a second to figure out what you’re talking about, and weakly pats your chest. “Don’t worry about it. I love eating pussy and nook like, so fucking much. Like bofa,” he assures you.

You almost. Almost ask what bofa is. 

“I’m not falling for that. And fine. But I am being serious,” you insist. “You did most of the work here.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I like it. Seriously.”

“Okay.”

The sticky mess on your thighs and bed is starting to cool, and you make a face that makes Dave laugh again. 

You’re gonna have to clean your sheets, too. 

At least it works like the more sex you have, the less material is deposited at one time.

“Next time, I’m either going to invest in a new bucket, or we’re doing it in the shower. Towels only work so well for absorbency.”

“Okay, babe. Now hush. Naptime. Afterglow.”

Dave draws you into him, and you let your eyes close to his squinting in a smile. You could get used to this.

“I love you, Karkat.”

You could really get used to this. 

“I pity you so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all! hope everyone is having an okay day, etc! love you all, and if you haven't read it yet, I wrote another little ficlet to accompany this! concerning dave after the kiss on christmas, as a celebration of my first 200 kudos on a fic ever! it's NSFW so there's that warning, and it's in the same series (I haven't figured out hotlinks yet T_T)! 
> 
> anyways, enjoy!


	21. You Don't Understand, Dave!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave meets the Vantas family!

“Well, I might as well come over, babe, it’s not like you haven’t met my family.”

“You don’t understand, Dave.”

You lean down to kiss him under the chin while he cooks. “What don’t I understand, Karcutie.”

“My father wasn’t to meet you,” he replies, and looks at you like you’re stupid.

You look at him like he’s the stupid one.

“Yeah, the whole meeting the parents schtick, I’ve got it down, pat,” you reassure him, waving a hand like you’re a fucking crown princess of Genovia. 

Karkat waves his hands a little like that’ll make you understand whatever kind of fear mongering he’s attempting to instill in you. “He was all like ‘I heard you have a new matesprit, mijo’,” he says, and the impression of his father that he’s doing is hilarious. Fucking deep voice and strong accent and everything. “And then he went ’Bring him next weekend for family dinner. I want to meet him.’ And I could practically hear Kankri in the background saying he wanted to ‘inspect’ you.”

Karkat’s looking at you like this should make you burst into the icy dregs of dread. But you’re just smiling at him. This wasn’t what you were expecting from that loud conversation Karkat had been having on the phone, but it works. Karkat waves his hands around a bit more before (you guess) realizing that you’re going to remain unflappable on this subject.

“Dave, you’ll need to be on your best behavior.”

“I’ll wear a nice shirt and everything.”

\--

And you do. You wear a nice-ass shirt. A button-down. With your nice jeans, and the gold-ass leather jacket. You’re fucking owning it already and you just walked in the door. 

The sheer amount of religious paraphernalia is a little off-putting, but something about it feels familiar. The house has a small cross with Jesus on it over every threshold and a picture of the Virgin Mary near the door too but the place is still very comfy and warm, and the lighting is soothingly yellow. It feels like a home. This is where your matesprit grew up, huh?

Kankri comes to open the door, saying that ‘padre’ is still working on something and will be out in a minute. Without asking, he leans forward and kisses both of your cheeks. It catches you a little off guard, but you work with it and do the same, you hope. He does the same to Karkat. You shoot Karkat an iffy look and he shrugs at you like this is something Kankri just does. Karkat’s brother looks like him, if snootier and with a shorter nose. And Kankri doesn’t have that little black spot right on the side of his neck.

Walking through the house affords you a glimpse of Karkat’s childhood. A larger cross in the living room, and another one over the hearth. You pass by a bedroom that Karkat identifies as the one he lived in, and see that it’s been turned into a guest room. It has flowered wallpaper that Karkat points out is the original wallpaper, though. You snigger, he punches you on the shoulder.

Karkat heads into the kitchen with Kankri, and you split off to go use the john. On the way to the bathroom, you pass another bedroom and see an arrangement of saint candles on the dresser, and a few rosaries in a basket. There’s a portrait of a very beautiful troll, with a child and a baby on her lap, on the wall next to the bed. The room has very soft lighting. It feels too personal. You back out, go to the bathroom and head back to the kitchen. 

The carpet of this house is white and the walls are wood, and the whole place smells like burning wicks and potpourri. No cigarette smell or booze on the kitchen counter. No weapons or weird sex dolls everywhere. It’s been more than a decade since you got out of that house, but this one makes you compare them. Karkat had a pretty nice childhood, from what you can see. 

A glance out the kitchen window affords you a view of the park pond that the house backs up to. 

Speaking of the kitchen, you’re currently plunking yourself down on a stool at the bar in there, leaning your elbows on the faux-stone surface. You have a rudimentary understanding of Spanish, but the words are flying faster than a mach-8 fighter plane in here, and this is fucking incredible. You can’t hope to keep up, so you don’t. 

It’s been zero to five million since Karkat closed the front door, and when you’re offered a Medalla you eagerly take it. So this isn’t probably what he meant when he was stressing being here, but you’re definitely feeling it. 

You take off your sunglasses to rub on the bridge of your nose, and shakily decide not to put them back on. Nah, Karkat wants you to be on your best behavior here. So you’ll show them your real face. He let you put that mark right below his collar before you came here, after all. You commend yourself on both placement and the determination to make a bruise on troll skin. 

At some point when you’re about a quarter of your way done with the beer, and dinner looks like it’s going to be done soon, Karkat gets a little riled by Kankri’s endless stream of words. He comes over to you and lays his head sideways on the counter, and you snatch his hip in one set of fingers, and kiss the corner of his mouth. 

When he grins, and his tension just melts off of him, you give him a little push so he can walk over and finish whatever he was doing. 

“You must be Dave,” an impossibly deep voice echoes from behind you, and you’re very fucking surprised. You jump. Quiet fucking Vantases sneaking the fuck up on you. 

“Yes, sir,” you say, and stand, and hold out your hand. He laughs even as he gives it a firm shake. He looks into the kitchen, at his boys squabbling, and says a few slower words that have them pausing for a second and looking mildly chastised. Kankri brings him a beer as well, and the taller man gestures for you to sit even as he slides into the other unoccupied stool. 

“It’s wonderful of you to come have dinner with us,” he says first. You notice him pour out a bit of his beer in the sink before taking his first sip.

“I gotta thank you for having me, Mr. Vantas.”

He laughs again, and you think you might have stepped in the wrong direction here before he pats you on the shoulder. “Feel free to call me Goliard. That might make this conversation less awkward.”

You grin. “I’ll see if I can’t manage that.”

Karkat is giving you a look when you glace up. He nods. You’re handling yourself just fine. You manage mostly not-awkward conversation for awhile, wherein he asks you about your career and your schooling in the past. You ask him a bit about his work, too, and he’s eager to share without preaching to you, which you appreciate. Thankfully dinner’s ready soon and Kankri and Karkat are pushing the two of you to go set the dinner table. 

You follow Goliard’s lead in where and how to place things for the table setting, and some kind of delicious-smelling spread is put on the table. These guys seem to like earth food, which is good, because you tried grubloaf once and it was not appealing. Alternian food is a little crazy. 

There’s nice conversation during the meal, even though Kankri goes off on a few tangents at points, and half the words spoken are in a language you don’t understand, and Karkat is so acidic sometimes he could melt the floor of the space ship in Alien. The way Karkat sinks into it, though, is nice to watch, and some of the subvocal noises he makes at his brother and father are kinda hot. 

Gotta nip those thoughts in the bud before they get away from you at dinner.

It’s really odd sitting around a table with three other people with eyes as red as yours. 

Well, not so much… odd. As just… it’s not pleasant, it’s… serendipitous.

You’re staring at Karkat and admiring how angry and cranky he’s getting at something stupid his brother said, when his father speaks up. You automatically straighten at the tone, and make sure you don’t have any food on your face.

“Karkat,” Goliard says.

The boys go silent, and you take another bite. 

“Yeah?” he asks, obviously wary. His back has also straightened, you notice. 

Goliard is quiet for a moment, letting the tension hang in the air. “Dave is very good for you. I hope the two of you are happy for a long time together. Your mother would wish the same.”

There’s another silence, in which you take your sweet time realizing that he could have spoken in Spanish but instead chose to say it in a way that you would understand. A ball of warm pride hits you right in the chest. So that’s what it feels like. Fatherly approval. 

Karkat is looking at his food when you glance to him.

“Thank… thank you, papá.”

The meal is a little more sober after that. Kankri complains a bit that while he’s celibate, his only attempt at a relationship was never approved by his father. Everyone at the table kind of looks at him, and Karkat says something about some foolish _cabrón_ who was part of a gang and flirted with everything that walked, that he and his father had never even met. 

The existing tension melts away just like when you gave Karkat that kiss earlier, in the kitchen. You hold his hand under the table. 

-

When you get home, Karkat pushes you down onto his couch, and flops himself into your lap. He kisses the fucking daylights out of you, and you’re left panting in his absence when he pulls away. 

“So Karkat.”

He looks almost angry at you, and frowns in the general direction of your neck, which he usually only does when he wants to nibble on that little sensitive spot behind your ear and shut you up. “What, Dave.”

“Why did Kankri kiss me on the cheeks?”

Karkat gets the most unusual expression on his face. That one where he’s both livid, but forcibly tolerant of your shit for the time being. This one has the added flavor of ‘why the fuck are you mentioning my brother when I have your shirt halfway off’, and you giggle a tiny bit at it. 

“It’s a behavior picked up from our mother; one that he kept. He was older when she died so he got more of that,” he explains. One of his hands is still under your shirt, and the other is tracing lazy patterns into the yoke embroidery on the collarbone. He always does that with your cowboy shirt. Karkat has a thing for feeling textures he likes. You’re not complaining. 

But he’s also uncharacteristically silent, until about five minutes later. His hand hasn’t withdrawn from its place on your stomach, which is fine. 

“Why the fuck does parental approval feel so good?” He asks, almost desperately, as he sits there in your lap with a frustrated look on his face.

You don’t know. “I can’t honestly tell you, man. But it feels really nice.”

Karkat gets a look like he understands, like he knows exactly what you’re experiencing, and he pities you so much for that time before you had any real parents. And he puts his hands on you, on your shoulders and chest and pale scars, and the patch of light skin on the middle of your right hip. 

And he sinks down onto you with a kiss and a hiss and a hit or a miss, and you love him so much. 

You love him so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Brosephs! I think the next chapter will be the last one unless I think of anything else. Sorry for posting so late but I have work right after class tomorrow! hope everyone is having a good week! <3
> 
> Goliard means “the rebel” and I thought that was fitting


	22. With my little eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!

“I spy… with my little eye…. Something… gray.”

“It’s my neck, and you’re too close to it.”

“Aw, you’re no fun, Karkles.”

“You can’t behave yourself? Even while we’re at your sister’s wedding?”

“You know that trope where the best man and maid of honor end up fucking?” Dave runs his hand down your backside before returning it to its proper place on your hip. 

“Seriously, Dave?” You try not to let either your interest or irritation show on your face. You’re being watched by the crowd. 

“Well jeez if I can’t make room for a quickie in the bathroom in my schedule.”

“Not in your wildest fucking dreams, Strider. At my moirail’s wedding!”

“Oh yeah, at your moirail’s wedding,” he tries to insist, and nibbles at the point of your ear.

You’re not having that, though, and you guess he takes the threat of no sex for a month incredibly seriously, because he starts to behave himself. You’ve been together for almost a year and a half, now? 

At four months, the two of you moved in together, into your complex but a slightly bigger unit, and you have a cat, now. You cook a lot more than him, and he does the dishes a lot more than you. You clean the apartment equally, et cetera et cetera. On your birthday, Dave made you breakfast in bed. On his, you gave him a really fantastic blow job, because he always wakes up incredibly late, and breakfast wouldn’t have made sense by then. Dave isn’t the biggest fan of breakfast food, anyway. 

Back in the present, at Kanaya and Rose’s wedding, Dave fastens your right cufflink for you. The one thing you’ve never been the great at, is cufflinks. Dave claims he knows how to do them as well as he does only because in his late teens, Mom always made him dress up really well for important events. 

He complains, but you know he liked it. Wearing fancy suits. Dave leans his head forward to tie your bowtie for you, because he insists that he does it better, and you arch your neck back to give him room. He kisses what he calls your “Adam’s apple”. You slap the back of his head. So Dave complains, and the two of you get into a short argument about propriety that only ends when Rose bustles back into the room. 

“Rose wouldn’t care if we did, come on,” Dave is saying, and you’re about to let him know that no amount of towels would make you feel less like a sticky mess when Rose decides to speak up. 

“I would, in fact, very much care,” she says. Hearing her smirking and seeing the look of pure murder she’s directing at Dave are two completely different things. You don’t envy his position. 

He finishes with your tie, and you turn to fix your hair in a mirror. 

“Are you two quite done? The doors will open soon.”

“Yeah, Rose, give us like, five minutes. We’ll be out there.”

She smiles her little enigmatic smile, and moves to leave. A minute passes, you’re sufficiently satisfied with your hair’s current state of unkemptness and your horns’ shine level (must keep them shiny for Kanaya’s big day that she spent eons planning), but you need to check your fangs one last time. 

“Cake testing with you was fun,” Dave says, and you hear a rustle like he’s straightening his jacket. 

“Yes, it was. Too fun. We’ll have to do that thing where we act like we’re getting married if we want to do it again.”

You turn to check Dave over before the two of you present yourselves. 

And you have to look down. 

Because right there, in the biggest patch of multicolored light from the stained glass window, is Dave. Right in this little back room, probably wrinkling his pants to get down on one knee. And his eyes are full of more hope than the day after the aquarium.

He says, “Maybe we won’t have to fake it.”

“Oh no. Not today. Nope. We are not doing this here,” you sputter, and Dave reaches out to take your hand. His sunglasses are on the small table to the side, and he’s smiling.

“Karkat?”

“No, you fucklord.”

“Will you marry me?”

So you don’t have any other option but to yank him up and hold him too tight. “I was gonna ask you first, why do you have to show me up like this?”

Dave’s voice is muffled in your shoulder. “I’m down with wearing two rings. As long as everyone knows you’re mine.”

And it’s too good; he slips this nicely understated garnet ring onto your finger, you can see, and you raise it up to look at it. He hands you the other ring, and you slide it onto his as well. And he laughs. 

“What?!” You snap, and your hair and suit are getting messed up again by this whole moment, but you don’t care. 

“You put it on the wrong hand, bro,” Dave explains, and your face lights up like Christmas. Instead of letting you switch it, though, Dave grabs your newly ringed hand with his own, twining the fingers together like a vice. The metal clinks. Dave kisses you. And it’s like kissing you is both the first and last thing he wants to do in his life. 

You know it’s what you want for yours. 

"We're not getting that gross cinnamon cake."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so! This is the end of my official first ever longfic! Yeah I had the beast AU but this one is totally me! And like I don't know how to feel about it!
> 
> What I do know tho is that I love you all! all of your support and kudos and reading of my work, and you're all wonderful! Thank you so much for this last several months of me writing, and thank you for sticking with me! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> _________________________________________________________________________
> 
> [Here](http://royalrastafariannaynays.tumblr.com/) is a link to my blog if you want to see updates or talk to me about my fics!


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